Soon Begins Bewitching
by Spruceton Spook
Summary: Ash and Co. set out to film their own version of "The Blair Witch Project." But when the disorganized satire starts to produce strange results, the kids are in for their most disturbing Halloween ever. "Stars Fell on Pallet Town" 'verse.
1. It's the Great Pumpkin, Ash Ketchum!

*waves timidly* Hi, everybody. Remember me? :3

Yes, 'tis I, the Spook, five years older and possibly wiser but still bearing much love for our beloved little Pokémon Master-to-be and all things that go bump in the night. :) I come to you this marvelous Halloween season with another long (and _spoooooky_) installment of the "Stars Fell on Pallet Town" 'verse. Surprised? Ha! I am, too. I honestly never thought I'd be doing this again, but this story's been kicking around my head (and my hard-drive) for more than a few years, and with the encouragement and inspiration of some incredible friends and a never-ending desire to manipulate every aspect of young Ash Ketchum's life, you guys get a dose of me another time around. I'm honored and excited (and terrified) to be back here. :)

So technically, yes, this story is a sequel to "Blue Heaven," but it can easily stand alone, too. It would be beneficial to have read the three previous episodes of the trilogy, but if you haven't, you don't have to let that stop you here. I can run down all you need to know in one brief sentence—ya ready? Spoilage! Jay is Ash's father, Riley is the adorable new addition to the Ketchum family, and oh yes, Ash and Misty here be an established couple. So clearly, Pokéshipping abounds—or _does_ it? Mwah! :P

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Pokémon_. I also don't own the fantastic cult-classic _The Blair Witch Project_. Neither does Ash, Misty, or Brock, for that matter. Be forewarned, this story does contain spoilers for _The Blair Witch Project_, so if you've never seen it…well, what are you waiting for? The movie's been out for 11 years! Get on it! ;P

And many thanks to my patient, wonderful friend Danielle for beta-ing this for me! She may not know much about _Pokémon_, but the girl can sure spot the typos that elude my eyes multiple times. I am tremendously grateful, my dear!

Enjoy, everyone! :D

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 1

"It's the Great Pumpkin, Ash Ketchum!"

It was a dark and stormy night in Pallet Town.

Okay…so it wasn't stormy. In fact, it was clear as clear could be. It was dark, though—endlessly dark, the kind of swathing night the quiet, rural Kanto valley was more than used to.

But it could have been broad daylight outside. There may have been lustrous rays of light streaming in through the curtains, birds chirping merrily outside, warmth radiating from the sun-drenched windows.

Or…there could have been a blizzard raging, snow and wind beating against the house ruthlessly, rattling the shingles. Maybe even a tornado, which would have been an outrageous sight, as those were all but nonexistent in that part of the land.

It didn't really matter. No attention was being paid to the outside world whatsoever. In the shadowy, dense stillness of the living room, four pairs of eyes were focused intently on the TV screen, unblinkingly wide in anticipation, suspense, and an impending sense of dread.

The spectators absorbed the dizzy event taking place before them speechlessly, completely engrossed. The three youngest, two of which's eyes were probably too immature for such an unsettling story, were taking up as little room as possible on the spacious couch, one leaning on the other like toppled dominos. Sounds of hysteria, screaming, and general chaos filled the room, doing nothing to pacify beating hearts and restless breathing and whitening knuckles.

It was only when Misty's fingernails succeeded in digging into Ash's skin through his flannel pants that he broke out of his trance. His hand flew to hers immediately, grasped it tightly, and eased her claws away from his leg without a word of complaint. Accepting the mutual gesture of security, the couple's hands remained clasped as attentions were directed back to the television. The culmination of the movie's story was underway, and the kids were both eager and apprehensive as the ending approached.

"Oh, no… No, no, no, don't go down there!" Brock suddenly shouted, slapping his hand partially over his eyes. The character in the movie was fearfully barreling down the staircase of a dilapidated house, heading straight for the basement. "It's so obvious the thing is _in the basement_!"

"Oh, my gossssh," Misty whimpered, burrowing her face into Ash's side. She was not too enthusiastic to see if Brock's frantic exclamation held truth. Quite the contrary, Ash, despite his racing blood, was very much fascinated in finding out what the character's fate had in store for her.

No one was more delighted by the effect the movie was producing than the man sitting across the way from the squashed, edgy kids. Jay stole a quick glance at them before turning back to the TV with a satisfied grin. He had seen the movie a few times, and was loving their reactions more than indulging in the film again himself. They weren't quite fraidy-cats, but he'd never seen the three of them huddled so close together. It was an amusing sight amidst all the terror.

In less than a minute, the movie abruptly ended, the screen rendered to static, then black. A lull took over the room until the credits started rolling.

"That's it?" Ash asked. Misty finally lifted her head from the warmth of his body, gawking at the screen as if in a daze.

"I'd say that's it," Brock wagered with a loud exhale.

Jay smirked at the befuddled kids. "That's it," he confirmed perkily. He reached over for the remote and shut the TV off, dousing any remaining light in the room. That didn't last long, however, as Misty hastily leapt up, startling Ash a bit, to switch on the lamp. Ash propped himself up and away from where he'd been leaning almost unconsciously on Brock.

"So," Jay chuckled, watching them readjust and make a bit of distance between themselves, "what did you think?"

"Freaky!" Ash answered his father elatedly.

"Yeah, that was pretty scary," Brock agreed, stretching the kinks out of his arms.

"…I didn't like it," came Misty's shaky ruling.

"What?" exclaimed Ash. "What do you mean, you didn't like it?"

"Too scary for you?" Jay teased.

Misty hugged her knees. "W-well, no—I mean, _yeah_, it—it was scary, but… I don't know, it just…hit too close to home."

"Huh? Hit too close to home?" Ash repeated confusedly. If Misty hadn't remained so disturbed by the eeriness of the film, she would have sighed at his ignorance.

"Well, yeah! I mean, _hello_. That movie didn't remind you of us _at all_?"

Ash shrugged, apparently not on the same wavelength as his girlfriend. "I guess it did a _little_…"

"A little?" Misty echoed incredulously. "Ash, it was about three kids—two guys and a girl—lost hopelessly in the woods, who couldn't read a map to save their lives, fought like crazy, ran out of food—"

"And get taunted, hunted down, and killed by a witch," Brock finished. He shook his head amusingly. "Yeah, Misty, it sucks that that always happens to us."

Ash, giddy as could be now that his nerves were loosening, burst into giggles. Misty narrowed her eyes at the older teen, not too appreciative that her viewpoint—as valid as she believed it was—came off as a huge joke.

"Very funny, Brock. It just freaked me out, that's all," she retorted defensively.

"I'm just messing with you," Brock grinned. "It did kind of remind me of us, you're right."

"Oh, c'mon, those kids were nothing like us!" Ash protested. "They were filming a dumb movie. They weren't on a journey. They didn't even have a single pokémon."

"Is that all that matters to you?" Misty didn't know why she was surprised—it _was_ the obsessed Pokémon Master wannabe she was talking to, after all. "It makes no difference whatsoever!"

"You're right," Brock concurred. "Just take away the camera equipment and replace it with pokémon, and it could have been us."

"Hmm, I guess in a way, then, it _isn't_ the greatest movie to show traveling pokémon trainers…especially on the night before they're due to set out," Jay chimed in with a mischievous wink.

Misty groaned dramatically as soon as she was reminded of that particular tidbit. It was true that the three of them were heading out once again for the Johto region the next day to continue Ash's journey. It was a fairly brief visit; they had only been in Pallet for the last two weeks for Ash to celebrate his thirteenth birthday with his family. At first Ash wasn't too keen on taking the short detour; he'd been on a badge-earning roll lately and didn't want to risk his streak. But Delia had been persistent, claiming that she had to say goodbye to her little boy and hello to her teenager, and a simple phone call would _not_ do for this milestone. Ash had rolled his eyes at that logic, but he couldn't say no to her. Besides, it gave him a chance to spend more time with the latest addition to his life, his newborn brother, Riley. He didn't regret it.

But now here they were, on the eve of their departure, and naturally Jay had chosen this night to show them the cult-classic _The Blair Witch Project_. Misty had thought nothing of it at the time; she wasn't the biggest fan of horror movies, but it _was_ Halloween time, and she didn't want to feel left out when the two boys eagerly agreed to the movie. Having no prior interest in it, she wasn't especially privy to the plot of the film…but boy, did she wish she had been now.

Jay was right—_not_ the movie to put you in the best frame-of-mind right before you were set to camp out the following days in unbounded woods.

And yet somehow…why did she get the sinking suspicion that it had been deliberate? Misty was starting to catch on to Jay's notorious craftiness; Ash had certainly warned her about it enough. Her boyfriend's father was downright sneaky at times.

_Heaven help me if Ash grows up with that trait!_

"What's the matter, Misty? Scared the Blair Witch is going to get us?"

Okay, so even if Ash didn't inherit that particular feature, he had plenty of annoying ones now to make up for it.

"Oh, please, like you won't be scared?" she challenged right back.

"'Course not," Ash arched his shoulders confidently. "There's no such thing as the Blair Witch."

Misty slumped. "I don't mean _the_ Blair Witch, Ash! I know that's fake!"

"So you're afraid of _other_ witches?"

"We've never had a problem with witches before," Brock cut in with dead-pan seriousness, his dry humor hiding the satire behind the statement. "It would be a pretty insane coincidence if it happened to us now."

"I'm not talking about witches, period!" Misty growled with a laugh, chucking a pillow in Brock's direction. With quick reflexes, he swatted it away before it struck him in the face. "I'm talking about the fact that the forest has freaked me out before, and now it's _really_ going to. There are tons of spooky things in the woods. What if this movie is supposed to open our eyes?"

"Open our eyes to what? Misty, what are you trying to do, put the kibosh on us leaving for my journey tomorrow?" Ash crossed his arms distrustfully. "Have you been plotting with Mom?" His eyes suddenly flared open and he jumped to face his dad. "Have _you_ been plotting with Mom?"

Jay's jaw dropped and he threw his arms out wide in innocence. "Plotting _what_?" he chuckled. "I thought you guys would enjoy watching a spooky Halloween movie! That's all!"

_Sure you did!_ Misty wanted to accuse him playfully, glad that Ash seemed to be catching on to her suspicions in a way, as well.

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Jay then turned to Misty and gave her an easy, placating smile. "Misty, you got nothing to worry about. You've spent years travelling safely in the woods, and trust me, you'll get to the next town safely, too. No big, bad _whatever_ is out there to get you guys. The scariest thing in the woods with you is my son."

Jay's banter did reassure Misty. "Oh, I know," she giggled.

"And I'm not plotting anything with your mother, you little punk," Jay snorted at Ash. "You know she didn't even want me showing this movie to you guys."

"She might've changed her mind if it meant scaring me into staying home," Ash pointed out. It was no secret that Delia had been trying relentlessly to convince the kids to stick around longer, and it would be just like his desperate mother and frivolously-devious father to think up such a plan.

"I hear a bunch of chatting away down here. Is that terrible movie finally over?"

Speaking of whom, all heads turned as Delia made her first appearance in over an hour. Not a fan of the film by any means, she had retreated upstairs to take care of Riley and relax for the evening. Settled in comfortably for the night in her pajamas and robe, Delia affably shook her head at her family from the staircase.

"See what I mean?" Jay proved. He smiled up at his wife. "Yes, honey, that terrible movie is finally over. You can come out of hiding now."

"I wasn't _hiding_," Delia scowled good-humoredly as she made her way down the stairs. "I just didn't want to hear any of that awful film you just showed my children."

Jay sagged in his chair at Delia's unalterably strong opinion. "Oh, lay off it, Del, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad!" Delia widened her eyes in disbelief, though she had a facetious air about her. "The language in that movie is shameful! I can't believe you showed my little boy something with that much swearing in it. And I can't believe I _let_ you!"

"Aww, Mom, give 'im a break. It's okay!" Ash chirped. "I know all those words already! Hear 'em plenty of times, too."

"Oh, is that so?" his mother laughed, arching her brow. "From whom?"

"Misty, duh," Ash rolled his eyes in jest. Misty socked him in the arm for his pointless attempt at wit.

"Yes, that Misty has quite a filthy mouth on her," Delia kidded in return. "But _you_ never curse, do you, honey?"

"Absolutely not!" he replied, pretending to be taken aback. His mother gave him a shrewd, skeptical glance as Ash flashed his teeth in an angelic beam.

"They handled the movie fine," Jay sighed. "And I knew they would. They're old enough for this kind of stuff now."

Delia crossed her arms. "If you say so. But just don't start making it a habit of showing my son rated 'R' movies."

"It's Halloween. A lot of scary movies, unfortunately, are rated 'R,'" Jay said.

"That's no excuse! Where does it go from there? Rated 'R' romance movies for Valentine's Day? Those you will _not_ be showing Ash."

"Why? What's in rated 'R' romance movies?" Ash asked with feigned naivety. Misty had to stifle her laughs.

"None of your concern, mister," Delia replied, poking her amused son's nose.

"Actually, you might be quite happy now that I showed them _The Blair Witch Project_," Jay said appealingly, standing up and extending his limbs. "Looks like a few members of the group are a little afraid about leaving tomorrow."

As expected, Delia's face brightened and she looked hopefully at Ash, to which her son frantically shook his head. "Not me!" he proclaimed. "I'm not afraid of witches! Misty is."

"Ugh, when will I learn to not open my mouth?" Misty dumped her head into her palm.

"Aww, it's okay if you're frightened, Misty dear," Delia soothed, resting her head lovingly on the girl's silky hair. "You can stay here with me all warm and cozy and safe in the house as _looonng_ as you want."

"Okay!" Misty replied happily, melting with embellishment into Delia's embrace as she knew Ash was watching. Sure enough, she heard him huff at the affectionate display.

"Fine, stay here if that's what you want to do," Ash said haughtily. "But _I'm_ heading back out tomorrow, with or without your witch-phobic self."

He was fibbing, of course; Misty knew darn well that he wouldn't dare leave without her. On the other hand, she (and probably everyone else in the room) knew that he'd barely be at the end of his front walk before she'd dash out there to join him. It was a losing battle, she acknowledged. While the kids loved their pit-stops at Pallet Town, the decision to come and go was always ultimately up to Ash, and if his eagerness in the last couple of days was any indication, nothing was going to prevent them from heading out in the early morning for Olivine City.

Not even if Misty was the least bit afraid after seeing what _could_ happen to helpless campers…because, well, he ragged on her about her bug phobia, and _that_ was real. Like he was going to put his dream on hold to protect her from another fear, this one completely irrational!

Delia looked a bit sad when Ash made that crack, and he was afraid he once again set off her lamenting on his going away. Instead, she gave an accepting nod as she reached out to stroke his face. "Well, if that's what you're planning, you'd better get off to bed then. It's pretty late, and I know you: you'll want to leave as early as possible tomorrow."

"Only because I want to get as close to the next town as I can before dark," Ash reminded her calmly. He knew she was aware that he didn't want out quickly because being home was undesirable. It was an impractical notion, but all the same, he always liked to reiterate for her sake.

"And if we can get to the next town _before_ dark? That would be perfect," Misty said with a jittery laugh.

"Oh, sure, Misty, not a problem," Brock consented sarcastically. "As long as you don't mind carrying my pack, I'm all for it. Though I hope you know it won't make a difference, anyway…if the witch doesn't want us to reach the town, we're not going to."

"_Broooock_!"

"Ah, quit worrying, you guys," Jay yawned, stepping by the kids and giving Ash a gentle pat on the head in a goodnight gesture. "You know what night's gonna be the worst if you're gonna have trouble sleeping from this? Tonight. And where are you? Safe in the house.

"Well," he added tentatively, cringing, "at least I'd _assume_ you're safe in here. I mean, you never know if this'll be the night Mommy finally decides to go on a sleepwalking rampage."

Jay agilely sprang out of the way as Delia reached out to slap his arm. She barely missed him. "I'd go after you first," she warned.

"Don't I know it," Jay guffawed, heading for the stairs. "Goodnight, kids. _Hopefully_ I'll see you in the morning!"

Misty laughed at his silliness, but Jay was right: she was going to have a rough night. She normally did after scary movies. But, she had to recall, so did Ash. They'd seen enough together for her to be certain of that, and some of those movies couldn't even hold a candle to this one as far as the horror factor was concerned. The kid was hyper now, and undoubtedly enjoyed the movie (probably also had something to do with Jay going above Delia in letting him see it), but she knew him well enough to know that eventually, inevitably, he'd succumb to his masked fears.

Unbeknownst to her, a little while later found Ash not the least bit worried about his sleeping capabilities. Though wound up, he could already feel fatigue coming on. He was looking forward to getting back to business the next day. He'd had a great break: got a delicious birthday dinner and cake, played with little Riley till he tuckered the baby out, visited all his pokémon at Professor Oak's. The vacation was prized, but he knew he was at his prime right now. It would only be a matter of time before he'd earn all eight badges necessary to compete in the Johto League. The desire for that set all his ambitious gears into motion. Home was fantastic, but his livelihood was calling.

"Ash…?"

Well, at the moment, that wasn't the only thing calling.

As he reached the landing of the second floor, he immediately heard Misty's voice wafting from the sitting room down the hall. A smile creeping to his face, he lightly padded his way over. The door was slightly ajar, and he nudged it open. He could barely see into the abyss of her room, but he didn't need to.

"Yeah, Misty?" he whispered. The meager light from the hallway cast a skinny beam across her bed, which she, to his surprise, was not in. Instead, she was seated Indian-style at the end of it, burying her bare, chilled toes into a fold in the comforter.

She smiled when their eyes met. "Goodnight."

"Oh, goodnight," he returned pleasantly. He motioned past her with a buoyant nod of his head. "Uh, you gonna get in the covers or what?"

Misty gave an aloof half-shrug and began to shuffle off her bed. "Um…yeah…in a minute."

Ash could hear the veiled apprehension in her voice as he took her extending hands. They felt like ice, and once again he was going to suggest she get under the blankets, but he supposed he needed to address the not-so-subtle hint of assurance she was pining for.

"What's the matter?" he asked, still keeping his voice low, as the closed door to his parents' room was but feet away. He'd catch hell if he woke Riley up and interrupted the baby's fairly consistent sleeping schedule.

A little embarrassed, Misty stole a glance at his chest. "I don't know…still a little freaked out about that movie, I guess."

"Really?" Ash asked in surprise, though his tone was not meant to mock. "I didn't think it was _that_ scary, Misty. You didn't even see the witch!"

Misty tilted her head thoughtfully. Movies certainly affected the two of them differently, and like any boy his age, it was sight and action that appealed to Ash. _The Blair Witch Project_ was focused on what was _not_ seen, the obscurity of an invisible, deadly menace that was meant to arouse one's fear. It made more sense to her now why Ash wasn't as frightened as she was; things might have been different if the screen had been graced by a hideous witch's face at one point or another.

"I know," she replied. "It still scared me, though. All the sounds and getting lost and stuff. I watched it and just kept seeing _us_ the whole time. It was creepy. When we get back out into the woods, I don't know if I'll be able to get it off my mind."

"So, what does that mean?" Ash smirked jovially. "You're afraid to camp out now?"

She cringed slightly. "Well…"

"'Cause if that's the case," he blinked assertively, "you don't think I'd protect you if there _was_ a witch out there?"

Although utterly sweet, Misty had to snicker at that. "Oh, you would, huh? And how would you do that? Especially since the witch likes to confuse her victims."

"She wouldn't confuse _me_."

"Right!" she beamed zanily. "All she'd need to do is imitate the call of a rare pokémon and you'd be running out of there so fast and leaving me behind for her!"

Ash looked wounded by her gibe. "Aww, c'mon, Misty, no I wouldn't." He then paused and thought about it. "But…even if I _did_, Brock would be there to protect you just in case."

"I think that's what I would rely on in the first place," she narrowed her eyes derisively.

Ash scratched the back of his head. "Well, you don't have to worry about it tonight, Misty. Come on now, let's get to sleep." He produced a huge yawn, granting Misty a whiff of the minty aroma of his toothpaste. "I want to get up around seven tomorrow."

Misty couldn't escape the contagiousness of the yawn. "_If_ I can even sleep…" she managed. She then gave Ash a kittenish smile. "I kinda wish you could be around to protect me _tonight_."

His eyes widening at her mischievous desire, Ash hurriedly put a finger to his lips to shush her. "_Misty_," he giggled nervously. "Quiet!"

She laughed as softly as she could, delighted with his reaction. "No one heard me. Chill out."

"My mom has the ears of a zubat. I will not chill out."

"Your mom is probably dead asleep."

"Well…yeah, you're probably right," Ash dismissed it, rubbing at his watery eyes. "I'm getting there myself. You aren't?"

Yawning again, Misty had no excuse to deny it. "No, I guess I am. My one night where I know I'll actually be safe. Might as well take advantage of it."

"You'll be safe tomorrow night, too," Ash sighed. "The only thing you should _really_ be concerned with is how cold it might be."

The mere thought of trekking dozens of miles in the nippy late-October air sent a shiver through Misty's bones. She was never one to deal well with the colder weather. If she couldn't keep warm in the Ketchums' cozy house, she didn't even want to imagine how uncomfortable sleeping outdoors was going to be.

Seeing the predictable dismay in her eyes, Ash excitedly leaned into her ear. "But…don't worry about that, either," he whispered roguishly. "I'll protect you from that, too."

The look of tickled shock on her face could not have been a better reward for Ash. He happily realized that he was starting to get as good with romantic talk as she oftentimes seemed to be. Paying close attention to the passionate things people said around him and on TV, and trying to pick up a thing or two from Brock (although he was more often a guide for what _shouldn't_ be said to girls), Ash was beginning to build on a lexicon that had been all too foreign to him. He even, guiltily, had a few not-so-innocent phrases stored away in his mind that would have his mother coming after him if she happened to hear them.

"Oh my gosh, who has to _shush_ now?" Misty squealed, a blush sweeping across the bridge of her nose. Her body seemed to warm simply with his words alone.

Ash felt her hands clamp his gleefully, and his pleasure swelled all the more. Figuring that was enough to effectively wash her mind of her petty witch worries, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Night, Misty."

Practically glowing, Misty scrambled backwards onto her bed, her gleaming eyes never leaving his. "Night, Ash."

Ash stood at her door and watched as she slipped under her covers, delicately and masterfully moving Togepi to the side without awakening him. When she was finally all settled in, her face the only part of her visible under the mountain of blankets drawn to her chin, comfortable as could be, Ash couldn't help but leer.

He _had_ to do it.

"And Misty? All those stories about the Pallet Town witch that I never told you about? Really…don't let them get to you. They're all just made-up stories. At least I think they are. I dunno. What's the chance of her coming after you tonight if she _was_ real, anyway? I mean, it's not like she smells _fear_ or anything like that, for all I know."

Silence. Then: "I hate you."

Ash's stomach leapt with affection as he gently closed her door. "Love you, too."

* * *

Misty couldn't remember the last time she had so elatedly embraced the solace of a bright, sunny morning.

At the same time, she couldn't remember if she was _ever_ this nervous about heading out into the untamed wilderness of Kanto's forests. Naturally, the day she had embarked on her journey had been an anxious one (though she wouldn't admit that to _anyone_, especially her sisters), but the only things she had feared were the elements, insects, and summoning the great maturity needed to be on her own for the first time. How in the world could she be older and _now_ fearful of something as ridiculous as being hunted by a _fictional_ supernatural being?

Suffice to say, it would be a long time until she watched a scary movie again. Especially one that paralleled her current life way too much for her liking. Clearly, she was wrong in thinking that she would kick this fear to the curb after the first night. If she had gotten three solid hours of sleep, she would be shocked.

Apparently, Misty was the only one who experienced a restless night after watching that disturbing film. Ash and Brock were eagerly packing away, and neither looked particularly drained. Having packed the night before, Misty was now sitting at the base of the stairs, nursing a cup of tea and rubbing the moisture from her throbbing eyes. She craved sleep, but what she really wanted was to expel this childish and embarrassing feeling of apprehension.

_Stupid movie…_

Delia was in and out of the living room sporadically. While not voicing it incessantly, Misty could tell she was unhappy that her son was up and leaving once again. Misty felt bad for her. If anyone believed having Riley would succeed in keeping her mind off her absent eldest, they were sorely mistaken. Delia abhorred saying goodbye to Ash, and it was blatantly evident that morning.

Maybe it was because Ash _was_ getting older that she realized just how much of his childhood she was missing out on.

With an aggressive yank, Ash zipped his backpack closed and leaned back on his haunches. "I think that does it," he said, slightly out of breath. While Delia had gathered his stuff together, getting it in his backpack had been a chore, considering his extra clothes were bulky for the looming colder weather. Brock was _still_ struggling with his.

His mother approached him, bundling her pink bathrobe around herself tentatively. For a second, Ash was certain she was going to go through the dreaded routine of making sure he packed _specific_ items, but the reluctant smile on her face quickly reminded him what he was still up against.

"Are you really gonna leave me again?" she whispered, her tired, beseeching eyes working their way into his conflicted heart.

"Aww, Mom," Ash groaned, rising to his feet. "Don't do this to me. Please? You know I have to get back out there."

"I know, I know," Delia quickly yielded, pushing her long, mussed hair out of her face. "I just…wish you would stick around longer, that's all…"

"You wanted me to come home for my birthday, and I did," Ash tried to explain as tenderly as possible. He didn't get it. Through his many farewells, she was pretty good about letting him leave for the most part. For some reason, this time around she seemed much more unrelenting. In the past few days, whenever he had mentioned his impending departure, she'd gotten visibly glum. "If—if I don't leave now, I'm gonna fall behind…"

"I understand, honey," Delia sighed, her gaze lowering bashfully to the ground. "It's just that…"

As she trailed off with noticeable purpose, Ash quirked a brow. "It's just that, _what…_?" he drawled, a bit of suspicion blending in with his exasperation.

The feeling was validated when she picked her head up, this time adorning a rascally smile. "It's just that…I was kind of hoping that you…maybe…would have thought about staying home for…Halloween…?"

Ash's whole body slumped. So _that's_ what this was all about. He realized in hindsight that he should have seen that coming—his mother had a thing about holidays and always strived to do them up for her boy's sake. Which was something Ash appreciated, of course…just not when the Mineral Badge was calling out to him.

"Mom, no," he shook his head.

"Oh, why not?" Delia jumped right in, advancing toward him with a hopeful, enticing gleam in her chestnut eyes. "You haven't been home for a Halloween in so long! Don't you think it would be fun?"

"_Mooomm_," Ash moaned on the verge of a whine. "Halloween's in a _week_!"

"I know! That's not too far away—"

"I was just going to say it _is_ too far away!" he countered, a little louder than he intended. "I can't wait that long to get back on my journey!"

Disappointment promptly washed over Delia's formerly optimistic face, and at once, Ash felt awful. He hated having this argument with her, but she needed to comprehend that it had nothing to do with her, or even Halloween. As a pokémon trainer, sacrifices such as these were part of the game; sometimes, holidays became causalities of the arduous lifestyle. That's just the way it was.

"I—I'm sorry," Ash quickly said, apologizing for both his forceful replies and for letting her down.

The apology was wordlessly accepted and a smile returned to her lips. "You can go trick-or-treating," Delia sang temptingly, her teeth sparkling with the incentive.

Ash's eyes widened. _Trick-or-treating._ The tantalizing lure of candy. A free pass for acceptable mischief and shenanigans. Hanging out on the dusky streets of Pallet Town till late hours, playfully spooked and stomachs gorged with sweets.

It was that…or his sixth Johto League badge. In all honesty, the idea did sidetrack him for a moment, but no…no, he couldn't afford any more delay.

"Mom, listen—"

"Oh, Ash, you'd love to do trick-or-treating again!" she interrupted him, clapping her hands excitedly. "You'd have so much fun. And with Misty and Brock, too! You three've never gone trick-or-treating together before, have you? It'd be wonderful. I'll even make your costume for you, just like old times! I'll make them for _all_ you kids!"

Misty and Brock smiled politely at her enthusiasm, but Ash's grimace remained.

"_Mom_—"

"I'd make whatever you want!" It was obvious she wasn't going to let him get a refusal in. "What do you want to be, sweetie? Anything you'd like! Just name it!"

"I want to be a pokémon trainer on his way to Olivine City, that's what I want to be." Ash crossed his arms grumpily.

His mother gave him a pained smile. "Come on now, Ash…I'm being serious."

"So am I. Fine. How 'bout an ax murderer?"

The suggestion made Delia falter for a second. "Oh, well…okay..."

"Complete with a _real _ax," he elaborated, secretly loving her slightly disturbed reaction. He decided to add a bit more spice to the mix. "_And_ I want Misty to be my victim."

"What?" Misty gasped, startled at being dragged into the minor dispute. She swiftly gathered herself as she registered Ash's idea. "No way! Ma, tell him no. That's horrible!"

"I don't mind him dressing the part, but Ash, no ax, dear. That's way too dangerous," Delia cringed. "Besides, I don't know if we even _have_ an ax."

"Whatever," Ash threw the concept away with his hand. "I changed my mind, anyway. I want to be a gigolo."

If the ax murderer proposal had taken Delia by surprise, this totally bowled her over. "A-a _what_?" she sputtered.

An aghast laugh burst from Misty's flushed face. "Ash! How do you even know what a gigolo is?"

"I have ways," Ash smirked haughtily. Brock's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he whistled innocently behind him. "So, yes, Mom, I want to be a gigolo, and I want Misty to be my—"

"ASH!" Misty nearly leapt off the stairs to her feet. A mortified smile spread her still rosy cheeks. "Zip it!"

Proud and amused with his witty stunt, Ash smiled brashly at his beleaguered mother. This was getting fun.

"Ash," Delia said cautiously, again sweeping her untamed hair from her face. He could tell she was reluctant to say what was on her tongue. "I…I don't want you to be that, honey. It's not…appropriate."

Giggling inwardly, Ash responded with an indifferent shrug. "Okay. I guess I'm gonna head off to Olivine City then."

"Oh, Ash," Delia pouted, now looking sincerely dejected, "why are you making this so difficult?"

"Me?" Ash cried with a disbelieving grin as he gestured to himself. "I'm the one making things difficult? Mom, you're the one who's trying to make me feel guilty about pursuing my dream. I'm _not_ being difficult!"

"Who's being difficult? What?"

Suddenly, Jay entered the fray from the top of the stairs. He'd been getting ready in his bedroom and was just about finished when the contention broke out. He'd heard the rise and fall of voices through his closed door in the last few minutes, but could tell there was nothing harsh about the dialogue.

For Ash, Jay's appearance was the stroke of luck he needed. He practically bounced with relief at the sight of his father—just the person to stand up for him in this case!

"Are you being difficult to your mother? Huh?" Jay demanded of his son lightheartedly. Misty jumped up from her seat on the base of the steps to let Jay through.

Ash huffed. "Yeah, right! Mom's trying to bug me into staying home. She thinks Halloween is more important than my Mineral Badge. Tell her to cut it out—tell her how important it is for me to get back out there!"

"I'm supposed to tell you how important it is for Ash to get back out there," Jay informed his wife, shoving his hands casually into his jean pockets.

Delia rolled her eyes. "Jay, give me a break! He acts like I'm trying to make him stay home for good. All I wanted to know is if he wanted to stay to go trick-or-treating."

Jay perked visibly at that. "Ohh. Trick-or-treating, huh?"

"Yes, I thought it would be really nice if they got dressed up and enjoyed the holiday for once, like kids should."

"Who says I haven't been enjoying Halloween all these years?" Ash made a face.

"Ash, considering the fact that we _forgot_ it was Halloween last year, I wouldn't go ahead and make that argument," Brock said.

Ash was two seconds away from having Pikachu thundershock his friend. True, last Halloween found the kids spending more time than intended hiking through the woods to the next town, so much that they had lost track of the days. Ash was so busy preparing himself for the next battle that it hadn't bothered him that much.

For a moment, Jay was quiet. Ash observed as he apparently contemplated all sides of the situation, but he knew Jay would declare what was _obviously_ more crucial.

"You know," Jay finally said, "it _would_ be nice to have a stash of candy in the house to raid again."

"Are you kidding me?" Ash exclaimed, glaring at his chuckling father. "You're telling me that you want me to put off earning badges for the Johto League just so you can steal my candy?"

"No, that's _not_ what I'm saying," Jay replied somewhat sternly. "I'm saying I want you to put off earning badges for the Johto League so I have _three_ stashes of candy to steal from. I'm not forgetting Misty and Brock now. We're talking about the mother-load here!"

While his two friends laughed, Ash just crossed his arms and scowled at Jay, who was trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"Take Riley trick-or-treating," Ash put forward. "You can keep _all_ his candy. And me, Misty, and Brock can be on our way to Olivine City."

"I have full intentions of taking the pipsqueak out on the town," Jay shrugged truthfully. "But let's face it—a six-month-old isn't going to last too long out there. What will we get out of it, one, maybe two blocks? Plus, you think _I'm_ in shape for that? Your old man'll probably crap out before Ri-Ri does. Therefore, I'm gonna need three resilient, young kids to help fill my quota."

Ash threw an almost fraught look at his mother, who was covering her mouth in an attempt to not laugh at her husband's humorous approach. And then there were Misty and Brock, inconveniently speechless during this exchange, looking just as amused and clearly not raring to jump to his defense.

Okay, so they were biting at Delia's bait. He couldn't blame them, he supposed. There was always a part of him that looked for just the faintest excuse to stay at home, and this was undoubtedly tempting. But determined to be serious and focused in his quest, giving in to something as juvenile as Halloween was completely unacceptable in _any_ respectable pokémon trainer's eyes.

"I don't know, Ash," Misty unexpectedly piped up. She wrung her hands around her empty tea cup sheepishly. "Maybe…we _could_ think about staying…"

"Yeah," Brock added diffidently, a startled Ash spinning to face him. "I mean, it _is_ only a week…"

_Just great!_ Ash thought as his jaw dropped to the ground. Respectable trainers, all right. His friends were nothing but suckers easily bribed by candy, his dad was a traitorous freeloader, and his mom…well, his mom loved him and missed him. And she wasn't technically a "respectable trainer." Didn't completely render her excused from being the ringleader in all this, but still.

"Guys, I can't believe it! I thought you _wanted_ to get back to travelling." _Wait…didn't they?_

"Well…" Misty said, keeping her response guardedly open-ended.

Ash narrowed his eyes as she was clearly dancing around a more sensitive subject. "Oh, Misty, _admit it_," he scoffed laughingly. "You don't want to stay here to trick-or-treat. You just wanna stay because you're afraid you're gonna get eaten by a witch if you leave the house."

"Ash. No, I'm _not_," Misty hotly denied, red in the face. She looked about ready to chuck her teacup at Ash's bratty face.

Before Ash had a chance to further antagonize, Jay gasped in amused shock. "Are you kidding?" he ragged Misty. "Are you really still creeped out from that movie?"

"No," Misty replied firmly, her pride pouring through the word. "Don't listen to Ash. He's full of it."

"Well, I know _that_," Jay said flippantly. "But seriously, are you?"

Misty stewed for a moment before shrugging honestly. "Maybe a little. But that's _not_ why I wouldn't mind staying here, _Ashton_," she grated in Ash's direction. He shuddered visibly at the name. "_I _happen to think that going trick-or-treating sounds like a lot of fun."

Delia practically squealed with delight, piercing Ash's ears. "Oh, you see, Ash? Your friends _want_ to stay! Don't you now?"

Ash vacillated, agape. The barrage of pressure, strong and subtle, was enfolding him in a stifling blur. He honestly didn't know what to do or say. Hassled, his gaze shot to Pikachu, perched atop the couch and observing the volley of human interaction before him. As soon as their eyes met, Pikachu's ears twitched at attention. While the pokémon may not have understood all the words being passed between the family, he had no trouble reading the strain in Ash's expression. Right away, Pikachu looked concerned.

It was silly to seek advice from his pokémon, Ash knew. After all, Pikachu would do anything Ash wanted to do. Truthfully, it was more like the mouse didn't have much of a choice. Only then did Ash realize he was looking for the answer to his dilemma within himself, studying one of the most influential elements of his quest for insight. Pikachu was conditioned and rested, ready for battle. In that alone, Ash felt he couldn't deny that Olivine City was the logical choice.

But then how in the world was he going to deny those flickering, hopeful, _pleading_ eyes of his mom?

Olivine City _could_ wait. He didn't want it to, but it could. Like he could go into battle there with a clear, guiltless conscience at this point, anyway.

"Okay, fine. We'll stay," Ash finally answered, a touch of reluctance in his voice, "but only under one condition."

"Oh, here we go," Brock grunted. Ash's brow quirked indignantly at his friend's assumption that his stipulation was an outrageous one, but all that mattered was that his mother already looked rabid to comply. It was almost enough for him to naughtily name a prerequisite a bit more excessive just for kicks, but he knew he wouldn't be able to suppress his shame in taking advantage of his mother like that for too long.

So, he made it simple and succinct: "We're leaving November first."

"Fine," Delia accepted with a smile.

_Wow, easy._ "I mean, don't start talkin' about Thanksgiving and thinking I'm going to stick around because that's so close—we aren't."

_Uh-oh…_ Obviously not having thought of that, Delia was wavering for a second. She quickly shook her head of it, though, and gave him a nod. "Okay."

But her hesitance was enough to make clear to Ash that there was a fat chance he'd be able to avoid home for the holidays; well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Not that he didn't _want_ to be home for those occasions himself, but he wasn't about to take the three-month vacation Delia would wholeheartedly advocate.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Sure, you can leave the day after Halloween, but let me make it clear that it's only under one condition from _me_, all right?" Jay spoke up with facetious austerity. "I get dibs on anything in your candy stash that has peanut butter or coconut in it."

"Coconut, sure," Ash grinned. "But I'm gonna fight ya for the peanut butter."

"And you'll lose, but okay," Jay shrugged dismissively.

"So…does this mean you're really staying?" Delia exclaimed almost breathlessly.

Seeing the joy in her face at granting her what she clearly wanted very, _very_ much filled Ash with a swelling feeling of gratification.

Giving Delia a lopsided smile, he sighed with forged apathy, "Yeah, I guess so."

Like a coiled spring released, Delia pounced over to envelope him in a hug.

"But only for Halloween, I mean it!" Ash yelped, his voice muzzled by a face-full of terrycloth. "Ugh, Ma! Lemme go!"

He didn't want to be let go; he just wanted her to loosen the vise-like grip he was snared in. Truth be told, the entire conversation probably could have been foregone if Delia had simply embraced him like this from the very start. No need to make her aware of how easily the softy in him could be won over, though. Besides, in hindsight, he would have never passed up freaking her out with his prospective Halloween getups.

He actually had _no_ idea what he wanted to be for Halloween…if he decided to go trick-or-treating at all.

When Delia finally liberated him, and he was able to catch his breath and right his back into a more comfortable posture, he right away glanced at Misty. His sly little girlfriend, looking just as thankful as she looked bushed. Did she have the energy to travel today? he wondered sympathetically. A moot point now…but her evident relief definitely helped take some weight off his shoulders (and some off hers, he'd have to tease her later). And Brock—well, Brock was the most easygoing, acquiescent guy Ash had ever met, and if Ash wanted to stay another month rather than a week? Yeah, Brock would do that, too.

One more week in Pallet Town. One more week of good meals, fresh laundry, his own downy pillow, and no nerve-wracking map deciphering. It wasn't hard being lazy…or being coddled, for that matter. Though the teenager and voyaging Pokémon Trainer in him desired some parental severance, there was always a (secretly large) part of him that adored being doted upon, of which his parents were generous.

Well, maybe sometimes a little _too_ generous.

Most unwelcomingly, the preoccupied Ash was suddenly apprehended in a fierce stronghold that swept his slender body off the ground. Before he even processed who his captor was, a sound, slobbering kiss was planted unceremoniously on his cheek.

"Ugh, _DAD_!"

Jay chuckled. "Thanks for making your mom happy, bud," he commended, and let his aghast, embarrassed son slither gracelessly back down. Ash quickly stumbled a few feet away, scowling.

"Don't mention it," he mumbled indignantly, to which Jay grinned.

Don't mention it, indeed.

That Mineral Badge seemed all the more appealing now…

* * *

"_Geez_," Ash groaned, even now recalling Jay's overdone kiss from earlier. "My dad is worse than my mom sometimes."

Misty held a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle. "Aww, that was cute, Ash!" she bubbled. "He's just happy you're staying home."

"No, he's happy that Ash is staying home _and_ that he just got Riley out of the house," Brock snickered. "Those two need some time for themselves," he acknowledged, referring to Jay and Delia.

"Yeah, yeah," Ash begrudgingly agreed. "I knew they had some underhanded reasons for wanting me to stay home!"

"Stop it," Misty scolded lightly. "Mom just wants us to get some fresh air—Riley, too. It's too beautiful a day to be inside."

"Ain't that the truth," Brock concurred.

And a beautiful day it indeed was. Zipped up in their fall coats, packed up with a travel-bag of drinks and money and with Riley and pokémon in tow, they leisurely made their way down the road en route to Pallet Town's popular apple orchard and pumpkin patch. Ash and Misty's hands were linked and stuffed inside Misty's jacket pocket, the warmth of Ash's hand not quite enough to keep the slight chill of the brisk fall air from numbing her fingers. Brock had been relegated to pushing Riley's stroller, a role he had accepted without any objection, while Togepi sat bundled with the infant, quietly keeping Riley occupied by allowing the baby to fiddle with his fuzzy spikes. It didn't take long after they had left the house to realize just what a great idea Delia had to fill an otherwise uneventful afternoon.

They walked on silently for quite some time, the soft crunch of the gravel and dead leaves beneath their feet, before Ash randomly spoke his mind.

"You know, I actually think it's gonna be pretty cool to be home again for Halloween," he said wistfully, glancing up at the blue sky.

"Wow, you changed your tune quickly," Misty remarked.

Ash shrugged. "I guess. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't _want_ to be home for Halloween."

"Sure sounded that way!" Misty begged to differ with a laugh. "You really couldn't have given your mom more of a hard time, you know."

"I suppose I did. It's just that if I gave in to every time she begged me to stay, or every time that I wanted to stay home on my own, I'd never leave," Ash admitted seriously. "Once I'm out there, that's one thing, but… It's just gotten harder and harder to come home and then leave again, especially now with Riley."

"That's perfectly understandable," Brock said. "And I can't blame your mom for trying to get you to stay, either." He winked.

Ash smiled. "Well, she's getting her way this time. I'll stay home for Halloween, but after that, it's back on the road for us. I can't afford to miss any more time. The Johto League is going to be here before we know it, and I'll kick myself if I miss it by just a few weeks and have to wait again for next year."

Misty threw her weight against Ash to playfully off-balance him. "Stop worrying about it!" she chirped perkily. "Let's just have fun this week! I think it really _is_ going to be great, Ash!"

"You bet it will!" Brock agreed, his face lighting up with an almost impish look of delight. "I don't know about you guys, but I can't _wait_ to go trick-or-treating!"

"Yeah, me neither!" Misty exalted, making a short leap into the air to illustrate her anticipation. "I haven't been trick-or-treating in years! It'll be so much fun!"

Flushing slightly, Ash slumped his shoulders. "Are you guys serious? You _really_ wanna go trick-or-treating?"

Misty shot him a confounded look. "What are you talking about? You don't want to go trick-or-treating?" Seeing Ash's indifferent expression in response, Misty gasped. "I can't believe you! Why in the world would you not want to go trick-or-treating?"

"I dunno," Ash's voice dragged. "Aren't we a little too old for that?"

"Too old?" Misty echoed incredulously. A tease of a smile still adorned her face, as she seemed certain her boyfriend was just being silly. "Ash, what's up with you? Brock is seventeen, and _he's_ going!" She gestured toward Brock, who was nodding pointedly. "Since when did you get 'too old' for it, Mr. Pokémon Master?"

Ash realized that with Misty's logic, he didn't have much of an argument. Still, he couldn't help but feel awkward about the whole idea. He hadn't gone trick-or-treating since the year before he began his journey. Regardless of what other people thought, it was that period of his life before his quest that he considered his childhood, the prelude before he had indisputably, in his eyes, "grown up." It was a powerful notion that he couldn't simply discount. Wasn't trick-or-treating an activity for little kids? _Really_ little kids? Even back then, his trick-or-treating involved more fooling around than it did ringing neighbors' doorbells. As much as the incentive of free candy was appealing, Ash couldn't help but view trick-or-treating as a step backward, a reversion to a life he was almost proud to have left behind.

"Well, I don't think I'm too old for it, but maybe others will!" he disputed. "What are people going to think when we come to the door with a bunch of little kids? We're going to stand out—it's gonna be so obvious!"

Misty rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Ash, considering the fact that you look like you're _ten_, I don't think _you_ are going to have much of a problem," she quipped. She had to bite back a giggle as Ash withdrew his head, a faint hint of a blush dancing across his nose at the ever-frequent reminder of how young he looked.

"Brock, on the other hand," she continued, reaching over to graze Brock's rough cheek with the back of her hand. "You might have to get rid of that five o'clock shadow before we head out."

Brock laughed, and reached up to roam the developing stubble on his chin. "Guess you're right there, Misty. Or I could just wear a mask!"

"Or go as a hobo!" Misty chuckled, her white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. "How are people to know it's real?"

As his two friends laughed, Ash discreetly turned his head to the side and reached up to explore his own chin. Smooth…just as it always was. Not that he had expected anything to change at that precise moment, but it sure would have helped to boost his resolve. And self-assurance. While he knew she was just poking harmless fun at something that was indeed evident, Ash didn't always appreciate the fact that his height and appearance suggested an age much younger than he actually was.

"Well, it sure will be nice to be the one to dress up for once," Brock sighed appreciatively. "The last few Halloweens at home involved dressing up my siblings and making sure they all stayed together when we went trick-or-treating. Wasn't much fun. I can't even remember the last time I actually got my own piece of candy on Halloween."

"Well, you'll be filling up your bag this year!" Misty proclaimed.

"You know, Pallet Town isn't exactly the trick-or-treating capital of the world, Misty," Ash reminded her, thinking of how separated the homes were in his quaint, rural community. He was certain she was unknowingly visualizing a Pallet Town Halloween to be exactly like a busy Cerulean City one. "There're not that many big neighborhoods to hit. We'll be walking around a lot, that's for sure."

Shrugging, the contented smile never left Misty's face. "That's okay—it'll be fun, if anything! Come on, Ash, stop convincing yourself that you don't want to go trick-or-treating and let's just do this! You _know_ we're going to have a good time."

Ash prepared to reply, but his words were suspended by a smile. How could he debate with such enthusiasm? Misty's excitement was simply radiant, searing from her bright eyes, colossal smile, and exuberant tone. That alone was winning him over, persuading him to give in to the fact that deep down he _did_ want to go trick-or-treating. He still wasn't sure why he was trying to convince himself otherwise, but Misty was right. If he was going to be home for Halloween, with his best friends on top of that, he should make the most of it.

"All right," he finally relented, giving the hand he was clutching within her pocket a tight squeeze. "We're going trick-or-treating."

"Yes!" Misty pumped a fist into the air. "Lots and lots of candy, here we come!"

It didn't take long before the lively scene of a thriving pumpkin patch emerged in the near distance. Unlike the makeshift reproductions in the neighboring urban cities, Pallet's well-known farm was completely genuine. Pumpkins remained secured to their vines in the sweeping, tangled field, while the adjoining apple orchard presented a picturesque accompaniment. Its authenticity and charm made it a prime attraction this time of year, clearly proven by the grounds teeming with locals and visitors alike feverish to obtain the most prized of the crop.

Taking in his vibrant surroundings, Ash had to own up that this was exactly where he wanted to be at the moment. Yes, it was near pandemonium, the normally-serene country farm flooded with frazzled parents and hyperactive children, but the scene was carefree, buoyant—and not to mention alluring, as the mere sight of the copious stock of colorful pumpkins set his childlike itch to explore in full motion.

This was _better_ than Olivine City.

His reverie was cracked as Brock suddenly bolted toward a nearby batch of pumpkins, leaving a startled Misty with no choice but to take the wheel of Riley's stroller. With befuddled faces, they watched as the older boy leapt spiritedly into the jungle of twisting vines and crouched behind a rather sizeable pumpkin. A large, giddy grin splayed across his face.

"Guys! Are you here to greet the Great Pumpkin?" he asked with purposely overdone joy. Instantly, his antics drew a smile from Ash.

"Tonight the Great Pumpkin will rise out of the pumpkin patch! He flies through the air and brings toys to all the children of the world!" Brock recited, his arms raised high in the air.

"Brock," Misty giggled, shaking her head at his silliness.

"What?" Brock shrugged. He patted the hefty pumpkin in front of him. "Don't you believe in the Great Pumpkin, Misty? Don't you think this pumpkin patch is sincere enough?" Brock straightened his jacket collar, leaned on the pumpkin, and fixed her a little smirk. "Perhaps I could, ah, get a few lovely ladies to join me as we anticipate his long-awaited arrival?"

The girl's eyes promptly narrowed. "Brock, you have a better chance of seeing a mythical, flying gourd than you do getting a bunch of girls to hang out with you in a pumpkin patch for the night."

Ash burst out laughing as Brock's face promptly deflated. Quite pleased with her below-the-belt comment (and wow, was she good at those, she thought guiltily to herself), Misty tried very hard not to succumb to her own amusement.

"By the way," she added, motioning to his side with a nod of her head. "You're about two inches away from kneeling in mud."

"Ah!" Brock yelped, springing to his feet and furiously checking to make sure he hadn't dirtied his jeans.

"Well, I guess this pumpkin patch _does_ look pretty sincere," Misty remarked as Brock rejoined them, this time cautiously watching his step. She shielded her eyes from the bright sun as she scanned the hullabaloo. "If it wasn't, there wouldn't be a hundred billion people here."

"Yeah, this place is crazy," Ash declared in an overstressed tone. "There're _always_ a ton of people here. The owners must be rich."

"How rich can you get selling pumpkins?" Misty wrinkled her nose.

"They sell other stuff during the year! Where do you think my mom gets her plants? Plus they have events here sometimes, too. They used to have a haunted house, but some kid busted his head open in it and parents went crazy. Got shut down."

Misty tsk-tsked. "You always have to ruin it for everyone else, don't you, Ash?"

Ash shot her a sidelong glare. "It wasn't _me_, thank you very much. I _miss_ that haunted house."

She let her tongue slip through her lips. "C'mon, we'd better hurry and pick something out before all the good pumpkins are gone," she suggested.

"How 'bout that one?" Ash pointed to the pumpkin that Brock had recited his ode upon.

While no doubt an aesthetic choice, Misty's mind was already contaminated with Brock's intended fantasy surrounding that particular pumpkin, unspoken as it was. With a discomfited smile, she quickly shoved Ash into the bustle.

"Um, let's see what else they got first, okay?"

Fortunately, the naïve, simple-minded boy needed no further reason.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Ah, yes, you recall now how my chapters were always ridiculously long? :) Take it as a sign of what's to come. Originally I wanted this to be on the short side, but that isn't going to happen. Even though this is a Halloween story, you will probably be reading it well into the New Year. It's quite a few chapters and I've set a tentative schedule to update every couple weeks. The story hasn't been completed at this point, but the fact that you've just read Chapter 1 means I'm officially committed: this story _will_ be finished. Well, you know, barring any unspeakable circumstances...

Now, I know there has been some recent speculation that Ash's birthday falls in April, but I decided to stick with the personal canon I established back in "SFOPT" with October being the month of Jay and Delia's anniversary and Ash's birthday. Besides, it gave a good reason for Ash to be home, as we know it takes a whole lot to get the kid back in Pallet. Roll with me, will you? :)

Stay tuned for Halloween shenanigans and hijinks in Chapter 2 in about two weeks from now. Enjoy the fun while you can…if you've read my stuff before, you know the happy isn't going to last too long. :)

In the meantime, feedback is greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear your thoughts! And anyone who can guess what song the title of this fic is derived from gets a cyber cookie! :D If you need a hint, look to the titles of the previous installments of the 'verse…it's all the same idea.

Thank you so much for reading!

~Spook


	2. Season of the Witch

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project. _There are also numerous references herein to _It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_, which I also—shockingly!—do not own. I'm simply employing aspects of their awesomeness to sculpt this little tale.

Many thanks to all you wonderful readers, especially those of you who have reviewed and have already added this story to their favorites! Wow, you guys believe this thing will actually be good to the very end? ;) Haha, just kidding—I am _so grateful_ for your support! I do hope you like this chapter just as much. Halloween antics in Pallet Town continue! Beware—er, I mean, _enjoy_! ^^;

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 2

"Season of the Witch"

The wrench thrown into Ash, Misty, and Brock's schedule was quickly adjusted to by all inhabitants of the Ketchum residence. Bags were partially unpacked, a necessary trip to the supermarket was made, and Delia was soon enough tripping over Ash's sneakers in the foyer again. It was as if they had never planned on leaving in the first place.

There were some individuals who weren't too happy about this change of itinerary, though.

Maintaining a safe and inconspicuous distance but in clear sight of the home—whose front stoop was now generously ornamented with an assortment of pumpkins—three downtrodden members of the notorious Team Rocket huddled in perplexity.

"I thought you said they were leaving today! What gives?" the female member growled in her cohort's direction.

The man's face constricted sheepishly from behind his binoculars. "I don't know, Jess. That's what I'd heard," James answered, wary of her mounting irritation.

"Well, you obviously heard _wrong_," she accused.

"Yeah. Looks like dere not goin' anywhere soon," Meowth agreed regretfully.

"_Great_." The word shot from Jessie's lips like a snapping twig. "Just what I need: another 'x' amount of days sleeping in the dirt waiting for those damn twerps to finish playing house."

"Maybe they just decided to spend an extra night…" James murmured, hoping to placate his impatient partner.

"Maybe they're not leaving _at all_," retorted Jessie, her frustration driving her abnormal pessimism.

"In which case, we'd be screwed," Meowth deduced eloquently.

Realizing there was no denying the pokémon's statement, Jessie and James heaved a disappointed sigh.

The dastardly trio hated when the twerps had a layover in Pallet Town. And there were _far_ too many of those lately, unfortunate was the case.

It hadn't always been like that. In the past, Pallet Town was treated just like any town, city, or stretch of woodland—that being an open arena for an attempt at capturing Pikachu or any other interesting pokémon in the twerps' possession.

But then _he_ came along. They were fuzzy on the details as to how or why he suddenly showed up on the scene, but it was clear he was there to stay. And with the unpleasant memory of their brief and painful introduction to the twerp's father—and his arcanine's fire spin—still fresh in their minds, Team Rocket was not about to test those tender waters again.

Jessie didn't like to attribute their cautious decision to "smartening up"…after all, it would only be a hit against her unquestionable intelligence. No, it was simply years of experience fine-tuning the team's astuteness in properly picking their battles.

Taking on the brat's old man was not something they were presently…prepared for. They had been blasted off many, many, _many_ times in the past, but that one? That one had been _really_ bad.

The apple hadn't fallen too far from _that_ tree.

Another failed attempt at capturing Pikachu was no good for the organization…but, as Jessie liked to point out, neither were the project's agents' fiery deaths.

It gave them a break, which they appreciated. But the boss didn't appreciate it. While the twerps were busy slacking off, overindulging, and sucking up to those pathetically mainstream, insipid parents (one of whom just otherwise _happened_ to own a ferocious pokémon and spine-chilling glower to boot), the three engaged in considerably easier missions. Enough to keep the boss off their backs and themselves employed.

What was worse, even with the twerps unaware of their adversaries in shifty pursuit, they still seemed to make every chance of attack gallingly difficult. There had been some excitement that morning when the kids left the house, but before any kind of strike could be orchestrated, they were suddenly amidst a tourist trap swarmed with hundreds of witnesses manned with cell phones and the police on speed-dial.

Again, battles properly picked. Jessie, as perturbed as she was, was pleased with herself.

Meowth snatched a pretty decent-sized pumpkin at James' giddy request and Team Rocket allowed the twerps to carry on.

But it was now getting progressively harder and annoying to just let Pikachu and the children get away. Jessie was tense, itching for a good battle, the indefinite deferral giving her brain time to devise a number of creative, different strategies that just seemed infallible. But nearly all of them involved ambushing the kids out in the middle of the wilderness, alone and vulnerable, and more importantly, not under the vigilance and guard of one daunting and formidable Daddy Twerp.

_That guy would make an _awesome_ Rocket_, Jessie had thought to herself quite a few times. Despite being a new, reviled enemy, there was no denying his intimidating presence and extraordinary battle authority were the attractive qualities of a brilliant Team Rocket agent.

Those weren't the _only_ things attractive about him, but Jessie kept that thought strictly to herself.

Yes, everything used to be so much easier in Pallet Town when all the children had were that airheaded mother and blundering professor on their side. His redeeming aspects aside, Jessie hated the twerp's father—with a passion. And the sooner she got the trio and Pikachu away from his patrol, the better.

"They're staying for Halloween."

James' blunt, unexpected statement wrenched Jessie's head to attention.

"What makes you think that?"

James shrugged. "Well, they went pumpkin picking. They've been helping decorate the house. Why would they do of all those things and not stick around for the actual day?"

Feeling her stomach sink, Jessie groaned. "How many days till Halloween?" She had no idea what the hell day it was and dreaded the answer.

"Six," James answered after a moment of calculating.

"Oh, _terrific_!" she spat, throwing her arms up in petulance. "I can't take another six days of this!"

"I—I could be wrong!" James quickly contradicted for her sake.

"No, you aren't wrong. For once." She crossed her arms heatedly. "Of course that's what they're doing! We should've known right away. A lame holiday for a lame bunch of brats."

James looked aggrieved. "I like Halloween…"

Jessie rolled her eyes and scoffed loudly. Hating to see his partner so worked up, James gently stood and grabbed one of her hands, easing it out of the stiff ball it was clenched into.

"Jessie, I know you're not too keen on trying to capture Pikachu with the twerp's father around, but perhaps we could give it another shot."

Looking aghast at his suggestion, Jessie sputtered, "Are you crazy?"

"Hear me out," James replied calmly. "He isn't with them all the time. You know that. We've had a few chances to attack when he's been gone for the day. There really is no need for you to always be so…how do I put it, now? Anxious."

Jessie leveled an offended look at her partner. "What are you saying, James?"

"He's sayin' you're paranoid," Meowth interjected.

"_Meowth_!"

"I am _not_ paranoid!" Jessie insisted huffily, jerking her hand free of James'. "And I'm not being anxious! I'm being cautious! What's wrong with that? What's wrong with biding our time and acting with clever discretion? What's wrong with knowing when's the best opportunity to attack and when isn't?"

"We'd know if we actually did something other than jabberin' about it!" Meowth exclaimed. Obviously, he too was starting to be overcome by a sort of frustrating "cabin fever" at their lack of activity.

"We _will_ do something, Meowth," Jessie glared. "Just as soon as those kids leave, okay?"

Suddenly, her request quirkily granted, the door to the Ketchum residence flew open and the twerps (and Pikachu—their eyes _always_ drew instantly to that familiar splash of yellow) spilled into the yard. The three Rockets withdrew into the brush, more out of instinct than necessity, as they were already pretty well shielded. The kids were hardly checking out the vicinity, anyway, instead preoccupied with an obscure, black object in Ash's hands.

Squinting, Jessie struggled to identify the thing that seemed to be generating quite a buzz. Any time the twerps were excited over something, she was excited. Such an interest-grabber often meant something Jessie wanted a piece of—or the whole thing, if all went well.

"What are those twerps up to?" she wondered out loud, her voice laden with residual frustration. She wrenched the binoculars out of James' hands violently, eliciting a yelp from her startled partner.

It was hard to focus in as the children were hardly still, chattering and cavorting about and heading out of the yard with hardly a dither. Their recreation seemed visibly beget by the mystery item, which Jessie was finally able to tentatively distinguish as…a portable camcorder?

_This_ was different.

"What are they doing with that?"

"Doing with what, Jess?"

Jessie lowered the binoculars, her confounded stare still fixed on the twerps' commotion.

"A video camera. What are they going to do, make frivolous home movies? How much more time can these brats actually waste?"

Meowth leaped onto her shoulder for a better vantage point. "Perhaps dey ain't wastin' any time, Jess. Maybe dey're off t' film somethin' real special."

Jessie perked at that. "Special…?" she echoed wistfully. "Special as in…something special _we_ might be interested in?"

"Ohhh!" James cried excitedly. "Perhaps they're off to document something like a herd of rare, elusive pokémon!"

Even though the idea sounded a bit outrageous, Jessie's heart was beginning to pump wildly. Perhaps it was just the restiveness in her veins reacting, but all the same, the hope planted in her by her partners' speculations was making it harder to dismiss the twerps' new mysterious action.

"What are we waiting for then?" she beamed deviously. "I say we follow those twerps and find out just what it is they're out to discover."

"Finally!" Meowth exalted.

"That's the spirit, Jess!" James smiled laudably.

And then without warning, the front door to the Ketchum home swung open again, and appearing in the doorway was none other than the dreaded form of the one person Jessie didn't need to see. Cursing violently under her breath, she grabbed James' shoulder and dragged them even further into the brush, nearly tripping over her own feet frantically in the process.

Meowth narrowed his eyes. "What were you sayin' about not bein' paranoid?" the cat asked contemptuously.

"Oh, shut up!" Jessie barked. Her eyes were still trained on the twerp's blasted father, watching him wave to the three kids with a sickeningly cheery smile, bidding them good luck. Good luck—good luck with _what_? What were those kids about to do? Whatever it was, the happy faces and the burgeoning excitement and the crushing air of the unknown were making Jessie's innards writhe with suspense.

She needed to know what was going on _right away_. Analyzing the scene more intensely, she inferred that they couldn't be going far. They didn't have their backpacks. The mother wasn't out to offer a goodbye. This could certainly pose as the opportunity they had been looking for, but Jessie still had her fears in the back of her mind. After all, they'd thought earlier that day was their big chance…

"Just give me a shout if you want me to come and help!" that abhorrent man suddenly yelled, loud enough for Jessie to hear and trigger her to spew another loutish curse.

There was no doubt in her mind that he'd help all right—whether it meant with the enigmatic mission or violently doing away with their ever-persistent enemies.

Why couldn't they just _catch a break_ this month_?_

"Ugggh, I hate him, _hateimhateimhateim_!" she grumbled under her breath. The wind gushed, whipping her long hair into her sullen, goaded face.

James and Meowth exchanged a knowing, thwarted look. Jessie's hopeful surge of aspiration was going to flounder as quickly as it had surfaced, tempting opportunity at hand or not. Things were going to get ugly, whether in the form of an inopportune run-in with the man of the house across the way or Jessie's explosive impatience.

"Jessie," James said carefully. "I…I know you're worried. But I think it would be a good idea to follow the twerps. We don't have to attack if we don't need to. But just in case where they're heading is in our best interests, we should keep an eye on them."

Breathing soundly out of anger and strain, Jessie took a moment to let this proposal sink in. The old man had disappeared into the house, the kids were halfway down the street. Her feet itched to take off after them but her nerves tied her back. Part of her didn't even understand this atypical restraint she was experiencing, and listening to James' gentle coaxing and Meowth's vexation only piled the tension on. She did want to see what they were up to, but she didn't want to risk their hides, either. With the twerp's father just a call away, who knew how open their opportunities truly were. The thought sent a chill through her, and disgust at the overall situation could be felt in the pit of her stomach.

Jessie went over the optimistic strategy to herself: _Follow discreetly, observe quietly, execute wisely._ It all sounded rational and doable, and no doubt _professional_. Looking into James' wavering emerald eyes, hopeful and persuasive, Jessie took a deep breath and managed a plucky smile.

"All right. Let's do it..."

* * *

Well, this day had certainly turned out to be a smorgasbord of events.

Just twenty-four hours before, Ash had envisioned himself at this given moment somewhere between Pallet and Olivine, the supportive company of his best friends and a mission on the mind so strong and focal that he was able to distance himself from the alluring comforts of home.

Plans had changed, but ironically enough, a mission still turned out to be the driving force of the afternoon's activities.

Granted, it was a bit more inconsequential than the previous intent, but it energized Ash all the same. It was going to be fun, challenging, and ultimately a constructive time-waster. If Ash had a week to kill at home (that was putting it crudely—it wasn't how he _really_ felt, but he couldn't help admit he was a _tad_ bored), this was certainly a way to do it. However it stacked up in terms of importance, at least one thing was clear: it sure did beat doing chores.

Which was exactly what Delia had almost greedily suggested following the kids' excursion to the pumpkin patch. Riley had shut down, the fuss of the outing plunging him into an early nap, and Delia had seen fit to use the time gainfully to get stuff done around the house. Accosting the kids when they were aimlessly futzing about, they couldn't hide the fact that they had nothing really to do. Ash, desperate to escape work of any kind, threw out the Olivine threat again. He was kidding, but Delia wasn't when she countered with her own threat of withholding dinner.

Before Ash had a chance to gripe about being tricked into staying home just for the purpose of indentured servitude, Jay, the fair-weather turncoat, came to the kids' rescue. He respected Ash's complaint, much to his son's delight and his wife's dismay.

But he wasn't about to just let the kids idle around, either. With a shrewd smirk, he'd declared that he was going to assign them a project. The call was certainly out-of-the-blue and bizarre, and just like that, the buoyant look on Ash's face had wiped clean away.

"A _project_?" he'd wrinkled his nose in disdain. He'd always associated the term "project" with "school," and if that was going to be their only alternative, then where was the vacuum cleaner?

But Misty had been intrigued. "What kind of project?" To Ash, this smelled awfully like something not up his alley, so naturally Misty was all ears.

"Don't worry," Jay had grinned, rendering Ash even _more_ distrustful, "you'll like it."

Moments later, the kids had been presented with the family's old camcorder, inducing a collective reaction of confusion. As Ash had accepted it bemusedly into his hands, the realization hit that he hadn't seen the thing for many, many years. A blast of nostalgia overtook him, setting off scenes in his head of his dad pursuing him all over with the camera, capturing his childhood adventures and mishaps. It shocked him to grasp just how long ago that had been. His mother had never really taken to home movies—she had been more into documenting his childhood with her still camera—so when Jay had left, so too did Ash's personal cameraman.

"Uhh, what are we supposed to do with this?" Ash had cautiously asked his father, who was bubbling with expectancy. "Tape our pokémon battles?"

"Well…yeah, sure, you can do that, I suppose. But I had something…a little different in mind."

"What's that…?"

The grin had widened. "I want you to make me a movie."

Ash could have laughed his head off. How quickly the tides had turned: his misgiving and Misty's optimistic curiosity did a complete reversal. As soon as Jay lay down the framework of his challenge for the kids, one that he had been concocting in his head since he and his wife had influenced them to stay home, the outlook of Ash's afternoon transformed from lackluster to colorful, a spark of childlike enthusiasm empowering him to accept Jay's request. Misty was not as inspired…but it came as no surprise. Ash wasn't about to let that damper his new venture, though.

"But that's exactly why we're doing this!" he said in reply to his girlfriend's qualm a little while later. Setting out soon after Jay had issued the assignment, they were ambling down the road with no real destination in mind—or precise ideas for the project, for that matter. "It's going to _help_ you, Misty."

Pikachu chirped brightly from atop his shoulders, clearly feeding off the jollity of his trainer and not the disapproval emitting from the girl trailing closely behind.

"I don't see how making me act out something that scared the daylights out of me helps me," Misty argued, enveloping her arms securely around herself. She had left Togepi back at the house, as he'd fallen to the same afternoon drowsiness that claimed Riley. Besides, if they really were going to reenact that chaotic, disturbing story, there was no need to bring her tiny pokémon along.

Ash sighed with a soft smile. "C'mon, you heard what Dad said. Acting this out ourselves and making our own version of it can get rid of all the fear and doubt you have about this stuff actually happening to us."

"A little reminder that it's all just fiction," Brock added.

Misty slumped, unconvinced. "But why _that_ movie? Why can't we make up our scary story and not rehash someone else's?" She lowered her voice significantly before murmuring, "Especially one that I hate."

Shrugging one shoulder cannily, Ash's smile broadened. "And _how_ would that help you conquer your fear?"

Not understanding (or believing) that that was the only reason behind this exercise, Misty persisted. "Can't we act out something a little less scary? You know, like the Charlie Brown Halloween story or something?"

"_Boring_!" Ash rolled his eyes. "You got to be kidding me. Who would want to watch that?"

Misty smirked. "Your mom."

"She doesn't count," Ash replied, knowing his mom would watch anything he created, as corny or dumb or trite as it might be. "Besides, Dad's the one who challenged us with this—and he wants to see us do _Blair Witch_. So we're gonna do _Blair Witch_."

"Hooray," Misty replied sardonically.

"I think this is going to be fun," Brock remarked. "How often do we get to play like this? We're always working or training or doing chores. This is a great chance for us to just mess around."

"_Exactly_, Brock!" Ash exclaimed happily.

"Besides, I used to love to act out my favorite movies when I was younger. My friend and I would make up all kinds of our own stories, too." Brock smiled proudly. "I've got acting experience."

"Hey, so do you!" Ash pointed out to Misty. All of a sudden, he swung the camera in her face and a little red light pierced her eye, indicating he was rolling. _Terrific_. "All those shows you do back home! C'mon, Misty, you know you'll love the camera!"

Misty was giving him—well, the camera—a look, but Ash couldn't tell as he struggled fruitlessly to adjust the blurry image on the display. He really needed to learn how to use the thing…

"Have you seen me do any shows there lately?" she said wearily. "And even if I do happen to love the camera, it doesn't mean I feel like running around the woods screaming my head off like a maniac in front of one!"

Ash's face lit up. "That'll be the best part!"

"Me doing it or you doing it?" Misty narrowed her eyes.

"Both." Ash lowered the camera and studied it. "We're all gonna have to take turns filming, too. Otherwise we won't all be able to star in it."

"Hey, how 'bout I do all the filming?" Misty attempted to grab the camera from his hands but he swiftly yanked it out of her reach. "Ash!"

"No way, Misty!" he frowned. "That's not the way the movie was. You gotta be in it, too."

"Well, let me film first, then!" Another failed swipe.

"Nuh-uh! I wanna film first!"

"What makes you boss?"

"It's my camera. And my dad who gave us the project." With that, Ash bolted ahead a few feet and briskly spun around, continuing to film Misty as he walked on backward. A rascally beam spread his cheeks behind the bulky device.

Misty glared into the camera, but there was no spite behind the look—just silent frustration at her puckish boyfriend who (as much as she regretted to admit it) had called checkmate with that point.

"You two are hilarious," Brock said dryly. "How about instead of arguing over who's doing the filming, let's talk about what the movie's actually going to be about."

Ash, still meandering in reverse, pivoted the camera toward Brock. "That's easy! I already have it all figured out. We're going to be three pokémon trainers who decide to film their journey and suddenly find themselves being hunted down by a witch!"

"How original," Misty mumbled.

Ash smiled, pleased with himself despite her derisive remark. "It's perfect! It's gonna be really scary, too!"

That statement was punctuated by Ash abruptly catching his foot on a rut in the road and nearly staggered to the ground. Pikachu, caught completely off-guard by the stumble, was pitched unceremoniously off Ash's shoulder with a cry but managed to land safely to the side. After a few furious arm-pinwheels, Ash was able to right himself but the damage was already done. Misty and Brock did all they could to smother their giggles at the mishap.

"Well, let's look at it this way—if it doesn't end up being scary, we might have a shot at the grand prize for funniest home video!" Brock laughed.

Ash ducked his head, hiding an abashed smile.

"Ash, I think it would be wise to walk in the right direction if you insist on doing the filming," Misty admonished after finally gaining control of her laughter.

The suggestion to correct his foolishness notwithstanding, the unease gently dissolved from Ash's smile. Misty was cheerfully amused, the happiest he had seen her since their mission was assigned, and suddenly Ash was thankful for his stumble. If that's all it took to bring back her high spirits, then he'd trip and fall a million times over. Fortunately, such ungainliness didn't exactly come hard to him.

"I think it would be, too," he agreed. "I wouldn't want to hurt the camera."

"I wouldn't want you to hurt _yourself_," Misty said. She then paused before adding almost halfheartedly, "How would you be able to make this movie then, huh?"

She was biting back a reticent smile at that comment, though, which implied to Ash that while she still had reservations, she valued his enthusiasm and ultimately wasn't going to squash it. That was the Misty he knew. Then and there, Ash was determined to ensure that she was going to have fun doing this project. It was now his primary goal, along with making his dad happy with his effort.

Unnoticeably, Ash flicked the camera off (and made a mental note to erase the embarrassing evidence of his ineptness later). Pikachu reclaimed his position and the group continued on. It wasn't long before they found themselves on the periphery of the Viridian Forest, as if it went without saying that this was the appropriate area to begin filming. They slipped quietly into a small clearing in the woodland, brilliant foliage towering above their heads. It set a warm, pleasant scene in the face of the misfortune they were about to fabricate.

"All right, guys!" Ash trilled, his finger dancing readily off the record button. "Scene one, act one—action!"

"Wait!" Misty cried. "Don't we have to decide what our lines are first?"

"What lines?" Ash replied. He flipped his cap backwards to make looking through the viewfinder easier. "We're just gonna make it up as we go along. All we have to do is act natural!"

"_Act natural_?" Misty snorted, humored by his naivety. "Sorry, Ash, last time I checked, my life didn't involve running from a murderous witch. How do I act natural for that?"

Ash groaned theatrically. "Well, the first scene has nothing to do with that! It's just going to be us walking through the woods as if we were heading to our first town. I would _hope_ you know how to act that out, seeing as we do it _everyday_, Misty. Sheesh."

"Sheesh yourself!" Misty kicked at the ankle-deep leaves, sending a scattering at Ash. "This isn't easy for me. I'll do the movie, Ash, but I need some sort of script."

"Then you write it."

"Me? This is _your_ movie, buster!"

"So? I don't need a script."

"If there isn't a script, how are we supposed to know when something scary's supposed to happen?"

Ash tried desperately to keep a straight face. "Misty, don't worry about that. Any scene with you in it'll be scary, anyway."

His girlfriend's pretty features twisted under her lethal glare. "Ash, keep it up, and a witch will be the _least_ of your worries."

"Alright, alright, take it easy," Brock determined, quickly holding out his hands to achieve peace. Geez, and Ash was filming this—too bad it was all about producing a script, otherwise their quarrel would have been the ideal "natural" dialogue Ash was looking for. "I think we should just stop and talk about it and try to figure out what we want to do."

"Yeah, like some sort of semblance of an _idea_," Misty huffed. Her heart rate was slightly elevated from the squabble.

"But if we want it to be anything like _Blair Witch_, it has to be _somewhat_ improvised—right, Brock?" Ash argued.

"It _will_ be improvised," Brock quickly appeased. "But Misty's right, Ash, we do have to have _some_ sort of plan. Otherwise we're just going to wind up running around out here filming a complete mess."

Misty rolled her eyes. "Trust me, if Ash controls the camera the whole time, it's going to be a complete mess whether we have a plan or not."

"Hey!" Ash cried indignantly.

"Okay, guys, seriously? Knock it off," Brock reprimanded. Ash stuck his tongue out at Misty, which caused her to glower. "Let's calm down and decide how we want to approach this. Think about…how we want the movie to start. Or how we want it to end. _Something_. If we have some sort of idea, we can at least work from there."

After a moment of meditative silence, Misty squirmed, her eyes shifting uncomfortably. "Well…we know how it will end…right?"

Ash and Brock's faces rose with interest.

"Uh, we do?" Ash asked.

Shrugging slightly, Misty uttered a nervous laugh. "Well, yeah. Aren't we…? I mean, don't we…don't we _die_?"

"Die?" Ash gasped, his eyes widening. Pikachu let out an edgy cry in response, as well.

Brock put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…I suppose that's probably what's going to happen."

"No!" Ash's sudden outburst drew the stunned attentions of Misty and Brock. He scowled, looking almost aghast. "Who says we have to die?"

"Um, the premise of the movie, maybe? That's what happens," Misty responded, her voice drifting off reluctantly. And Ash honestly wondered why she wasn't thrilled about doing this. The thought of faking death, even in a movie, settled within her disturbingly.

"But who says that that's what has to happen in _our_ movie?"

Misty and Brock exchanged a short glance, consulting each other with Ash's argument.

"He does have a point," Brock said after a moment. "We don't want to copy the movie verbatim."

"Ver-what?" Ash blinked.

"That's true," Misty concurred, relief amplifying her tone. "We can do whatever we want with this, can't we?"

"Of course we can!" Brock laughed. "And that means…not dying. If we don't want to."

"Good!" Misty sighed, beyond comforted that one thing was looking up about her willingness to participate.

"But guys, I never thought we _were_ going to die," Ash cut in matter-of-factly. He drew his free arm around his stomach and propped the elbow of his other arm on it, supporting the weight of the camera which was becoming increasingly taxing. He could feel the blood starting to drain out of it, and it would be no time before he relented and handed the camera off to one of his friends.

"After all," he added with a knowing smile, "we have one thing that those kids didn't have."

"Better maps?" Misty smirked.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that just yet," Brock winced playfully.

"No!" replied Ash zanily, getting a kick out of watching their expressions through the screen of the video camera. "Guys…we have _pokémon_."

Misty snickered. "Oh, sure, okay. So you're saying that those kids would have made it if they had a pikachu with them."

Ash slumped. "Misty, no. Think about it. You really don't believe they could have stood a better chance if they had some pokémon with them? I'm sure a psychic pokémon could have been some sort of help."

Misty was ready to retort, but Brock interjected. "I actually like what you're thinking," he said, pursing his lips. "I'm not sure if any physical attacks could have stopped the witch, but psychic could have, certainly. Or maybe even ghost pokémon!"

"That's great, Brock, but we don't have any psychic or ghost pokémon," Misty said.

Ash arched an eye. "But you have Psyd—"

"_No_," Misty grated with harsh succinctness.

"All right, all right!" he reeled back. "Guess there goes that, then."

The tranquil sounds of the forest enveloping them, they stood in silence for a few minutes, each delving deep in thought to try to conjure ideas. Ash was troubled by how much his imagination was failing him at the moment. Perhaps, he pondered, the extent of his creativity drew a line at pokémon battle strategy. Some help that would be for _this_ project, though.

The burden of the camera finally getting the best of his numbing arm, he shut the record button off and let his arm drop to his side. He figured he just recorded about half-an-hour of their fooling around and indecisiveness. As much as that didn't help the situation, he knew they'd probably have fun later watching it all over again. If only they had had a video camera during most of their journeys—he couldn't even begin to recall how many moments he would loved to have archived for endless memories.

During his intermittent lapse into nostalgia, his mind never quite drifted from their project. He really wanted to do this—or at least make an honest attempt at it, for his dad's sake, if not his own—and Ash knew Brock was right. And…well, Misty was, too. Improvisation only worked well in certain circumstances. They had to start _somewhere_. Suddenly, the concept of deciding the ending to their unsettled tale seemed more than just plausible. In fact, it sounded…almost _familiar_…

"Wait a second!" he suddenly cried, startling his two friends. His eyes were wide as saucers at the recollection. "That's it!"

"What's it?" Misty jumped.

"The ending! I know what we can do!"

"What?" the two of them prompted. The only response they received was Ash exploding into a run toward the entrance of the woods, nearly throwing Pikachu _again_ from his shoulder in the process. Misty and Brock had no choice but to take off after him.

Ignoring the annoyed calls from his friends, Ash continued his sprint toward his new-found destination. It was all coming to him so quickly, leaving him overwhelmed with his unexpected spark of inspiration. He was certain now that it was what they needed to do. The end of the actual movie clicking with a fading image of his childhood, everything was rapidly coming together. Of course! Why hadn't it seem so obvious before? And what better thing to do than film the end of the movie, with such an idea in sight…after all, hadn't they learned anything from their rendezvous with that hapless director Schpealbunk?

Just as the ideal and fantastic plan that had invaded his head began to blossom, a sudden realization halted Ash dead in his tracks. Misty and Brock, who had been hurrying swiftly to keep up, nearly tripped over their own faltering feet as they did all they could to avoid a nasty collision. They managed, but none too happily.

"ASH!" Misty exclaimed, righting herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Why'd you stop like that?" Brock barked. "And where were you going?"

Ash turned to them, biting his lip glumly. "I just had the perfect idea for the place where we could film the end of the movie."

"Yeah, we got that. Are you gonna tell us where it is, or what?" Misty inquired, frustrated.

"I was going to _take_ you there," Ash replied, "but…I just realized something."

"And that is…?" Brock asked.

Ash tapped the tips of his index fingers together tensely. "That…we kinda should get permission for it."

Misty paused, giving him a look. "Why? What is it?"

"It's..." Ash trailed off reluctantly. Darn it—he didn't want to tell them, he wanted to _show_ them! Such a perfect idea could only be unveiled with a touch of mystery and spectacle. For a brief moment, he contemplated foregoing this pesky hurdle and high-tailing it straight to his perfect destination, but his conscience was kicking in big time.

Still trying to retain a bit of that desired suspense, though, he put forth a placatory smile. "Let me go ask Mom. Then I'll take you right there."

"You won't tell us in the meantime?" Misty frowned.

"…Not yet," Ash said. He was already itching to make the temporary pit-stop at home. He was practically dancing on his toes. "I want it to be a surprise. You guys are gonna love it, I promise! You're going to think it's perfect!"

"Well, if you say so," Brock shrugged. "You've definitely gotten me interested, I can tell you that."

"He's gotten me _suspicious_." Misty narrowed her eyes at her suddenly-elated boyfriend. "What have you got up your sleeve, Ash Ketchum? What is this place? And why do we need to ask your mom if we can go?"

"Misty!" Ash all but whined through a hyper grin. "Quit askin' questions, will ya?"

"Is it a bad place?"

"A _bad_ place?" Ash echoed ludicrously. "No!"

"Do we have to travel far to get there?"

"No..."

"Does it cost a lot of money?"

"It won't cost a thing! Misty, let's _go_," he prompted again, motioning for her to get a move on. He was about as on edge as a spirited rapidash.

But Misty's feet didn't budge a centimeter, unwillingly halting the restless boy. "Then _why_ do we need your mom's permission?" she asked calmly.

Ash, now tenaciously determined not to disclose the secret location, balled his fists. "Because we just _do_, okay?"

Brock took notice that Ash was becoming increasingly agitated with Misty's cross-examination and quickly jumped in before _another_ one of their infamous brawls tarnished the afternoon. These two were in rare form today, that was for sure.

"Guys, c'mon, we're wasting time." He ushered them in the direction of home decisively. The two younger kids began walking, their eyes never leaving each other, the sparks still flying. "Whatever it is, Misty, the sooner we get there, the sooner we'll find out."

"Thank you, Brock," Ash said. A bit of smugness salted his tone, meant of course for Misty's ears. Brock mentally rolled his eyes; he had an aching feeling this wasn't going to be the last of his two friends' spars over this project. He was already exhausted, and it had all only just begun.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "Especially with your track record of hotheadedness and recklessness, Ash? And here in Pallet Town, besides? The fact that you've actually thought straight enough to ask your mom's permission means this oughta be _real_ good."

In spite of his friend's friendly gibe, Ash had to smile. It was gonna be good all right. They'd see.

That is, if Mom said yes, of course. Which she would. Ash was positive.

Somewhat.

* * *

When they got back to the house, Ash couldn't tear his jacket off fast enough. The excitement over his superlative idea, combined with the nagging doubt that he'd be able to capitalize off it, had him breaking out into a frantic sweat. The usual coziness of his home was all but sweltering; with all hope, he'd be back out into the cool air in just a few minutes.

His near-rowdy entrance grabbed the attention of Riley, who was sitting up in his playpen right outside the kitchen with a teething toy clamped between his drooling jaws. The baby instantly got bouncy, almost feeling the energy exuding from his flushed, animated brother. Ash beamed as soon as he saw how enraptured Riley was at his arrival, and quickly put the video camera down to scoop the infant up.

"Hey, Ri-Ri," Ash whispered, jostling the baby gently. Riley responded by shoving his soggy chewy into Ash's lips in offering, causing Ash to laugh as he dipped his head to avoid it. "Whoa, no thanks, that's yours!"

"Ash? What are you kids doing back so soon?" Delia's voice floated from the kitchen. Ash took a step backward to see her in the process of pulling out a large cooking pan from the cabinet. She gave them a curious look. "I thought you were filming your little movie."

"Yeah, Ash!" Misty agreed way too chirpily. "What _are_ we doing back home so fast? You rushed us home to play with Riley? I thought you said it was for something _really important_."

Ash glared at Misty, aware of exactly what she was doing. She knew he was still nervous about speaking to his mother regarding his mystery idea. Seeing her exaggerated grin stretching from ear to ear, he wondered just how much she loved being the instigator.

Well, if that's how she was going to play, then he'd just have to amiably rise to her challenge. If she thought adding her innocuous teasing to the mix would provide more fun at his expense, he had full intention of gracefully proving her wrong. Besides, he had approached his mother countless times with requests far more outrageous than this one…one of them successfully paying off. He had the miles under his belt and the gym badges to prove it.

Misty's grin was temporarily expunged as Ash suddenly plopped Riley into her unprepared arms. Not that she minded, for the baby seemed to be roosted in her arms more frequently than Togepi as of late. With a perky wink at his two friends, Ash then sauntered into the kitchen like a man on a mission…but with the smile of jittery young boy.

At the sight of the familiar large dishpan, Ash excitedly ascertained that lasagna would be on the menu tonight. Pushing his stimulated appetite aside, he quickly refocused on the task at hand. He drew near to his mother and leaned into the counter, tilting his face right into her line of vision.

"Hi, Mom," he sang.

Delia sensed his approach, but when his head practically dove into the lasagna pan to get her attention, she startled slightly.

"A-Ash," she laughed, pushing his head back up gently with her fingers. "We don't need your hair in the dinner tonight, honey."

"Sorry." He wandered not an inch from her side, and while it was always nice to have her son so close, he was definitely ignoring the concept of personal space.

"Little breather room?" she requested.

"I have to talk to you about something."

Uh-oh. There was that cautious, innocent tone she knew all too well. Figured—her afternoon had been going smoothly. That always proved too good to be true with her dynamic family. Delia paused, letting her hands fall to the counter, and fixed her son a weary stare.

"What did you do?"

Ash startled for a second before he quickly realized how misleading his attitude had been.

"Wha...? Oh, n-no, nothing, nothing!" He gave a laugh. "No, I just wanted to ask you something."

"Oh." Delia picked up her head, relieved, but her eyes retained some leeriness. There was still reason to be a tad skeptical of Ash's behavior. Something was up, and it probably wasn't something she'd be too thrilled with, if history had anything to say about it. Ash didn't have a habit of beating around the bush if something was invariably Mommy-approved.

"Ummm…" Ash hesitated, biting his lip.

_Yup_, Delia thought. Definitely something fishy cooking up in her little scamp's brain.

Then he let loose: "Me an' Misty an' Brock—we're having a hard time with our movie. We really don't know what we wanna do with it. We know most of it's gonna take place in the woods, but we were just discussing how we want it to begin and end, and all of a sudden I got the _perfect_ idea where we can shoot the last scene of the movie! I think it would be really awesome and really appropriate, but I know I should probably ask you first, and I really hope you think it's a cool idea, too, because—"

"Ash, Ash, _whoooa_, baby." Goodness, she hadn't heard him ramble like this since he'd started preparing for his initial Pokémon journey. Delia rubbed above her eye. "Slow down. Where is it you want to film?"

The motor-mouth was silenced again. Delia tipped her head, wondering just what in the world Ash wanted that commanded such disparate extremes of emotions.

Ash's heart hammered in his chest. "…The old Simmons place?" There—he said it. And as soon as he did, he could feel his stomach drop like a hunk of lead. His breath seized in his lungs. It was as if voicing the request out loud suddenly exposed just how absurd it was to think this was going to work out.

Like he should have anticipated from the start, his mother simply stared at him for a moment, straight-faced, before declaring concisely, "No."

As unsurprising as that was, so too was Ash's immediate reaction. "Aww, man! Why not?"

With that easy ruling out of the way, Delia resumed her dinner preparation, striding past her deflated son to assemble ingredients. "You know why not."

"Yeah, I know, but Mom, it's different now!" Ash argued. "I'm a lot older! And I know how to be careful! Nothing bad's gonna happen. I promise!"

"Ash, don't tell me nothing bad's going to happen. You don't know that." Delia fetched the lasagna noodles and tomato sauce from the cabinet.

"Yes, I do! I swear, I'll be _so_ careful! Can't we do it there? Please?"

"Ash, what are you talking about?" Misty interjected her boyfriend's sudden pouts and pleas. "What the heck is the old Simmons place?"

"The coolest house _ever_ that would be the perfect setting for our movie!" Ash exclaimed.

"No, it wouldn't be," Delia countered. "You're not filming there, Ash. No."

"Oh, come on! Why not?" he complained sharply.

His mother set the jar of sauce down on the counter a bit forcefully and frowned at her persistent son. "Why not? Ash, that place was dangerous back then, and it's _certainly_ no better now! If you think I'm going to let you go anywhere near there, you're out of your mind."

"It wasn't _that bad_ back then!"

A heavy silence filled the room as Delia studied him intensely. "Oh, yeah? And how exactly would you know that?"

Ash winced. _Oops_. Leave it to his hectic, reckless brain to inadvertently blurt out the secret that he had disobeyed her years ago. He couldn't help it, though! The long-abandoned Simmons residence was the one place every Pallet Town parent stressed their child to avoid, it's dilapidated, rickety foundation a calamity waiting to happen. By the same token, it was also a notoriously appealing, daring hotspot to explore for any local youngster, and Ash, not that impervious to peer pressure back then, was definitely no exception.

The skitty was out of the bag now—no use being tight-lipped anymore.

"Okay, fine, so I went in the house a few times," Ash finally confessed, though scarcely able to make the awkward eye-contact with Delia as he did. "But look, I didn't get hurt! I'm safe! And that was a long time ago, besides! You can't charge me with double monopoly!"

His mother arched an eyebrow in confusion and Brock burst out laughing.

"Ash, you mean double _jeopardy_!" he corrected hysterically. Catching on to Ash's flub, Misty blushed and began to giggle.

"He has no idea what he's talking about at all," Delia sighed. "Ash, I can't charge you with double jeopardy because technically I didn't charge you in the _first_ place."

"Uhhh… Oh…"

"But it doesn't matter," she shrugged. "You're right—that was then and this is now. And just like I said 'no' then, I'm going to say 'no' now."

Ash's shoulders wilted in defeat. "But Mom, you don't get it. It would be _so cool_. I can't think of a better spot to film the end of our movie! It takes place in the basement of an abandoned house—"

"The basement! Okay, Ash! Sure. Yes, you totally go in the basement of a house that's practically falling down. No problem! Go for it, kiddo."

Not at all amused with his mother's sarcastic remarks, Ash scowled. "I didn't say I was going to go _in_ the basement of the house! I was just saying how the real movie goes, and that we can film our movie in a _safe_ area of the house so it can have the same feel. That's all!"

"There _is_ no safe area in that house."

"You don't know that."

"Maybe not. Guess that's just going to have to remain a mystery."

"Ugh, Ma_ma_," Ash whined, and instantly regretted doing so. He didn't want to sound so embarrassingly juvenile, but his frustration was trumping his self-control. While he knew he shouldn't have been shocked by his mother's firmness on the matter, he'd been a bit confident that being older and more conscientious about safety would have at least allowed her to consider it before putting her foot down immediately.

Dolefully, Ash stole a glance at his friends. With apologetic faces, Misty and Brock simply shrugged, not having much else to respond with. Riley had taken to pulling on Misty's windblown, tousled hair, causing her to add a slight cringe to her expression.

Delia began filling a large stovetop pot with water. "You want to film in a scary basement, Ash? Ours will do the trick fine."

Ash frowned. "Yeah, sure," he folded his arms huffily. "It'll be _real_ scary when we're in the middle of a scene and all of a sudden you come downstairs to do a load of wash."

"Don't be silly. That won't happen." Delia looked over her shoulder and produced a cunning grin. "Especially since I'll have _you_ do the laundry beforehand, just to make extra sure you aren't disturbed."

Fighting the urge to laugh scathingly at that, reckoning that insolence wasn't the answer, Ash just exhaled loudly. It was hard for him to admit defeat, but he knew in his heart it was no use pushing the issue anymore. Delia was never going to say yes, even if he got the Town of Pallet to inspect the house and draw up an official document declaring it safe. Ash almost snorted out loud, imagining himself going to the town hall to file _that_ request.

Just then, Jay entered the kitchen from the backyard, where he had been raking for part of the afternoon. He looked surprised when he saw the kids huddling in the threshold.

"Hey," he greeted Ash, taking a breath to warm his lungs. "What happened with the movie? You lost interest in it already?"

"Oh no, he didn't lose interest." Delia gave Jay a sardonic smile as he helped himself to a glass of water at the sink. "You should hear what kind of crazy ideas he's coming up with."

"Oh, yeah?" Jay's face brightened excitedly. "Like what?"

"Like coming to me and asking if it would okay to film in that dangerous, old Simmons house."

Jay's eyes widened at Ash as the glass was perched at his lips. "The Simmons house? Neat!"

Huffing in annoyance, Delia faced her husband. "Jay, don't say that, please. It's not neat. That's _not_ a safe place for Ash to go in, and you know that."

"I didn't say I approved," Jay replied unflappably. He swigged some water. "I just said it was neat."

Delia rolled her eyes. "That's all I need is for you to encourage him to not listen to me. _Again_."

Jay finished his drink in one tremendous gulp and grinned at his son. "I gotta say, you got an awesome thought-process there, squirt. The Simmons place is just like that creepy house in _Blair Witch_."

"Yeah, I know!" Ash beamed, happy that his father was keen on his concept.

"But Mommy's right—not really a good idea to film there. It _is_ pretty sketchy. I can't even believe the place is still standing! Would've thought it'd be rubble by now. Last thing we need is for you guys to be the reason that actually happens."

Well, there went that faint twinkle of hope that permission could have still been bestowed. Then again, this was the man recently infamous for his unpredictable alliances. Ash did believe that Jay thought the idea was cool, but ultimately he was ever much the sensible parent.

Having no other choice, Ash nodded softly in yielding. It wasn't as if it were an invalid point; every time Ash returned to Pallet, part of him was surprised the house was still intact. But after dealing with much more uncertain surfaces in his travels and getting through those safely (most of the time…), he was sure the Simmons house would've been doable enough.

It was a shame; such a wasted opportunity…

"Got any other good ideas, otherwise?" his dad inquired.

Ash pursed his lips. Considering his one and only good idea had been vetoed by both of his folks, Jay's question disheartened him. "Mmm, not really. We're kinda having a hard time with it. We're not exactly filmmakers, Dad."

"Ahh, don't worry about that," Jay dismissed it airily. "You don't need to be. It'll come to you. You'll figure out something soon enough. I'm not looking for you to film the next great horror masterpiece here, dude. Just have fun with it—don't drive yourself crazy or anything."

"Too late," Brock chuckled, recalling how Scene One had almost inadvertently emulated the ferocious fight scenes of the original.

"And please—be careful," Delia beseeched Ash, inflicting some very timorous eyes on her son. "I'd prefer if you didn't shoot your movie someplace where you could get hurt."

"Well, that practically rules out _everywhere_, so we'd better stop filming altogether!" Misty joked.

Ash looked resentful. "Not helping, Misty!"

It really _wasn't_ helping. For an instant, Delia looked dreadfully reminded of her son's clumsiness, but was suddenly distracted by the boiling water jolting the lid off the pot on the stove. She quickly jumped to turn the flame down.

"All right, well, if you're going to go out, do it now," she advised as she began to delicately drop the lasagna noodles into the water one at a time. "Dinner will be ready in an hour and a half."

"You know I'll be home for that!" smiled Ash. He turned to his friends. "You guys wanna go out and do some more filming?"

"…I guess so," Misty sighed, and Ash couldn't help but suspect that it was out of disappointment. Her disinclination about making the film had seemed to have faded, but did she still actually _hate_ it? Looking reluctant to let go of Riley, she placed the baby gently back in his playpen, much to his own displeasure. He immediately started fussing, but Jay hastily went to snatch his son up.

"Have fun, kiddies!" he said merrily, bobbing in place to soothe Riley. "Remember: don't take it so seriously. Just go with the flow!"

"And _be safe_," Delia added, underscoring her utmost concern again. "Please don't do anything risky! Stay out of trouble with this, okay?"

Forgetting about Misty's discouraging attitude, Ash grinned. "When have you ever known me to get in trouble?" he said, his own crazy, little way of assuring her he'd comply. He loped backwards and retrieved the camcorder.

His mother gave him a semi-harmless glare at his joke. "Look, I'm already worried enough as it is that you're doing this. I don't get why you or your father would want to imitate all the terrible things that happened in that movie."

_You and Misty both_, Ash thought, but he'd convince Misty otherwise.

"_Delia_," Jay groaned laughingly, "quit knocking the movie or I'm gonna start having choice things to say about _your_ favorites. And you know I can be brutal."

Delia waved him away, then pointed a stringent finger at her son. "And _especially_ none of that disgraceful language! I hear one dirty word out your mouth in your movie, mister, and the only thing you'll be tasting on Halloween is a bar of soap!"

Giggling awkwardly, Ash rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, you got it, Mom. No cursing."

Floundering to look convinced, Delia shook her head and went back to attending to the noodles.

"So where you gonna go?" Jay asked as they began shuffling their way out.

Pausing briefly as he faced the open doorway, Misty and Brock already passed through into the blustery yard, Ash whirled around and gave his father an uncertain smile. "Uh, back to where we were. The woods. Up the road."

"Alrighty then." Jay picked up Riley's tiny hand and had the baby wave goodbye to his brother.

Ash, charmed with the cuteness of the gesture, waved delicately back. Then he dashed outside, slamming the door behind him with a whoosh that sent the vertical blinds on the patio doors swaying chaotically. There was enough of a ripple between the vanes for Jay to catch sight of his son motioning his friends to follow him downhill, the opposite direction of where he had just verified.

Strange.

Somehow, Jay didn't believe Ash's sense of direction was that faulty. It couldn't be. As his baby son started chewing on the cords of his sweatshirt, Jay allowed a shrewd grin to steal to his lips.

_You little punk._

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

So will reforming _The Blair Witch Project_ really help Misty get over her fears? Will it succeed in putting Ash's restlessness to creative use? Will Brock be able to reconcile the dissonance and keep his two friends from inadvertently adding bloodshed to this harmless parody? Was Jay is his right mind when he thought up this crazy idea? Answers to come...

Thanks for reading!


	3. This Old House

**Disclaimer**: So, unfortunately nothing has changed in the last two weeks and I still don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project._ Pathetically, moreover, I also don't own "The Old Simmons Place," if you can believe it… But the real-life version that lent its inspiration for this story no longer exists, and I'm pretty sure the only person who really misses it is _me_, so it's all good, no?

Enjoy the spooky delinquency ahead! :)

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 3

"This Old House"

The breeze was beginning to pick up, gently dragging trails of golden, fallen leaves swiftly across the road, and there was a bite to the air. Misty sensed this slight dip in the temperature, promise of the imminence of another nippy, fall evening, and bundled her arms more securely around herself. They had only ventured a short distance from the house, but as Misty quietly watched Ash striding before her, an eager spring in his step and video camera again poised actively in his hand, she could tell there was purpose to his trek. With a suspicious arch of her eyebrow, she decided to take a stab at her hunch.

"Where are you taking us, Ash?"

"Yeah," Brock added, motioning in the other direction with a swift throw of his head. "I thought you wanted to go back to the site and try again."

Ash picked his head up a little, and Misty and Brock barely caught the momentary glance he shot them—and the accompanying smirk.

"You'll see," he replied aloofly.

Misty sighed, somewhat agitatedly. Their destination was becoming more than just intuition now that he refused to answer the question outright. She wasn't about ready to deal with his mysteriousness.

"No, Ash, tell us where we're going. You haven't said a thing since we left the house."

Kicking energetically through a pile of brown leaves, Ash flipped around, aiming the camera in his girlfriend's now-noticeably irritated face.

"It's a surprise," he grinned, immediately spinning frontward again.

"Ugh! Ash!" she grumbled. She looked to Brock, who just gave her a shrug but showed no indication of putting a stop to their excursion. Misty wrinkled her nose and focused on Ash once again, observing the carefree air he had about him. Who did he think he was fooling? Certainly not her!

Taking a breath to compose herself, Misty allowed the sneaky leer to at last pull at her lips. Holding her head up proudly, she finally came out with it.

"So, tell me, why are you taking us to the old Simmons place after your mom specifically told you you couldn't go?"

"_Eck_!" Ash halted dead in his tracks, wide-eyed and cringing. Misty and Brock stopped behind him and watched as slowly and reluctantly, Ash turned to face them. The camera lowered despondently to the ground.

"How did you know?" he whimpered, looking pained.

Misty rolled her eyes. "Please, Ash. How obvious could you make it? You're so excited about going to this old house, your mom tells you no, and then suddenly you're leading us somewhere down the road without saying a word?" She chuckled, shaking her head.

Frowning, Ash glanced at Brock.

"I had my thoughts, too," his older friend admitted, folding his arms.

"Fine, you got me," Ash gave in with a thwarted smile. "But don't tell my mom, okay? Come on." And with that, he started down the road again.

"What? Ash!" Misty cried, shocked. She and Brock remained rooted in place. "What do you mean, don't tell your mom? Why are you going?"

"Oh, come on, guys, it's no big deal, really!" Ash insisted, facing them again. "I just want to check this place out again for old time's sake. And I wanna show it to you!"

"Then why did you even bother going to your mom if you're just gonna do whatever you want, anyway?" Misty grilled. "I thought the whole reason you went to ask her is so that you didn't want to feel like a delinquent!"

"I really didn't think she'd say no!" Ash confessed, shrugging considerably. "And I'm not being a delinquent. I'm older now and she knows I can take care of myself! I just want to show you guys something from my childhood. What's the harm in that?"

"The last time you showed us something from your childhood, Ash, you came home covered in mud," Brock laughed. Recalling Ash's ill fated, messy return to his old hideaway in the woods (which was nothing more than a glorified swamp that got the better of Ash in quite a few hilarious ways), Misty shot Brock a commendable grin.

"Yeah, what's going to befall you this time?" she remarked.

Ash cringed. "Hopefully nothing like that. This place can be dangerous!"

Misty rolled her eyes. "Which is why your mom doesn't want us there, and why we shouldn't go. What's the big deal about this place, anyway?"

"_Misty_," Ash whined, grinding his teeth in doggedness. "We're not going to go in, _I promise_. Just come with me, please? Wait till you see it!"

Misty stared at his solemn face, which he slowly replaced with a beseeching grin. It only succeeded in making his request more innocent. Sighing, Misty turned again to Brock for guidance. If anyone was on par with Delia's position, it was him. Fortunately for Ash, Brock was feeling eager and curious, as well as a bit passive.

"We can go. But we aren't going in," he stressed seriously, eyeing Ash.

Ash beamed. "We aren't going in," he swore, delighted. Picking the camera up once again, he centered it momentarily on Misty's face, who simply gave him a gentle but reproachful smile, and waved him forward. Glad that Misty wasn't going to make him feel any guiltier about visiting one of his old stomping grounds, Ash set off once again toward the Simmons house.

With gusts of wind blasting them askew occasionally, the three kids followed the road for just a short distance more. As Ash found himself approaching the old, forgotten property, overgrown to the point where it actually appeared to be swallowing the dilapidated Colonial whole, a shiver of excitement rushed through his veins. He couldn't remember the last time he had made a special trip to this house, but instantly, his head was flooded with hazy scenes from his childhood.

Hot summer days, fueling courage with curiosity, creeping inconspicuously through the dense bramble encircling the rundown home and climbing cautiously onto the porch. Past Halloweens, the road dimly lit with the streetlamps and trick-or-treaters' flashlights, staring at the house's black windows and daring each other to approach. Ash could even, in that moment, remember the house's distinct, musty smell—from the few times he actually ventured in—and wondered if it still had it. Whether Misty or Brock could fully understand it, the old Simmons place was an integral part of the lives of many Pallet Town kids.

"This is it!" he announced as they faced the house, still standing on the road and quite a distance from the crumbling front steps. He couldn't get rid of the smile on his face as he gazed upon the murky, white house, ramshackle beyond repair. Pikachu repositioned on his shoulder, intrigued.

"Oh," Brock said, observing the house. "I know this place."

"Yeah," Misty said, the wind tossing her bangs about her face. "We pass it all the time going to town."

"I know. But didn't you ever wonder what it looked like inside?" Ash's teeth gleamed behind a frivolous smile.

"Not really," she shrugged.

"What?" Ash gasped, more disappointed than shocked. "Oh, come on! Look at how cool it is!"

Misty glanced up again, her eyes roaming from the house's slightly-warped roof to the mess of thick shrubbery that surrounded the porch. The relentless wind didn't help quell the chill that coursed up her spine. The house's once white paint was dark and peeling with weather-beaten decay, and most of the windows were shattered. Ragged curtains leaked through the broken glass, the sharp breezes doing their best to tear them from the house. It looked so lonely, so gone, so battered…it was sad. There was no doubt that the house was once beautiful, and how anyone could let it become so irreparable was beyond Misty's comprehension.

She was so entranced that she didn't notice Ash readily making his way through the long, dead grass and ankle-deep leaves. But when she did, she and Brock quickly reacted and hurried to catch up with him. Not a word was spoken as they stole closer and closer to the house, and while Misty observed the loomed home almost warily, Ash couldn't contain how excited he was. The urge to find an open door and check the old place out again ate at him. But he knew he couldn't…shouldn't. He'd promised.

"Piiiiiika," Pikachu uttered as they stopped right before the house's front porch. He leaped off Ash's shoulder, but didn't stray from his trainer's side.

"This is one old, beat-up place," commented Brock.

Misty bit her lip. "I-Is it haunted?" she asked nervously.

"Don't know for sure," Ash replied, his voice low in mystification. "_I_ never saw anything. And I didn't know anyone who can swear they have, either. But you can imagine all the stories going around about this place when I was a kid."

"I don't know if I want to know the stories," Misty shivered. She decided right then she didn't want to stay there much longer. Something just didn't settle right within her.

Before she realized it, though, Ash was attempting his way onto the porch, Pikachu on his heels.

"Ash!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

"I just want to look in the windows," he said over his shoulder.

"You aren't going in!" she reiterated strictly.

"I'm _not_ going in!" Ash replied in an annoyed tone, not bothering to face her that time. Pausing for a moment to assess the best way to get through the shrubs entangling the front stoop and secure his footing on the rickety steps, Ash reached out and pushed the branches away, ducking under them to squeeze his way through.

"Watch what you're doing, Ash," Brock advised. "Those steps look pretty bad."

"They are bad," Ash said. By this point, he was halfway up the stairs, though, completely trapped in a pocket of knotted brushwood. The yielding steps groaned under his weight, making Misty all the more concerned and nervous.

"Please don't fall through the stairs," she begged softly. Part of her wanted to rush forward and yank him back, but she knew that would only anger him.

Ash fought his way through the rest of the branches and reached the landing of the porch. He turned around, smiling in accomplishment. Pikachu had made it to the top without much difficulty.

"Come on up, Misty," he gestured. "It's not that bad."

"No, thanks," she declined, backing up to further solidify her decision—one she discovered she was alone in making. Suddenly, Brock left her side and drew near the overgrown steps himself.

"_Brock_!" she whimpered.

"Hey, might as well look in the windows. I kinda wanna check this place out, too."

"Well, I'm staying right here!" she declared resolutely.

"Aww, don't be that way!" Ash said, looking down at her forlornly. The video camera was pointed in her direction, and Misty glowered for good measure. "I want to show you what a great place this would've been to film the ending of our movie."

_I'm _glad_ we aren't filming the movie here_, Misty thought to herself. Not knowing how to respond to Ash without disappointing him, she instead let her eyes wander around herself, taking in the scenery. It was getting darker, she noticed. All the more reason she wanted to head home…

Ash recognized Misty's hesitation and sighed sadly. He knew she was not in favor of the whole situation, but he was adamant in assuring her there was nothing wrong with what they were doing. As Brock finally reached where Ash was standing, brushing away the leaves that had clung to his hair, Ash handed him the rolling video camera without a word and ventured through the branches once again.

"Misty," he cooed, and her attention shot back to him.

"What?" she moaned, her face falling as she realized he wasn't going to leave her alone.

Ash, embedded in the undergrowth, reached his hand out to her. "Come on," he urged gently and enticingly. Noticing her tensing in reluctance, he smiled and added even more soothingly, "Please?"

Misty gazed into his brown eyes, sparkling with a hint of temptation and even mischief, and found herself falling into the same trap she always did when Ash tried to lead her from her bubble of stubbornness. Unfortunately for Misty, after knowing her for nearly three years, Ash had fine-tuned his uncanny knack for luring her in. He looked so excited, so hopeful—how could she say no? Purposely rolling her eyes to feign extreme annoyance, she stepped forward and took his hand.

"Are these thorns?"

"Nope, but they're pointy. Be careful."

Misty cringed as Ash guided her through the brush, pushing aside any branches in her way with his free hand. She could feel the spindly branches yielding and snapping as she intruded into their denseness, but she was more conscious of the soft, almost soggy steps supporting her weight.

"If I fall through these steps, Ash Ketchum—" she started, but suddenly, she felt her hair snag. With a yelp, she released Ash's hand to free herself, but Ash was one step ahead of her. She froze as he reached out and gently freed her tangled hair from the offending branch, then smiled at her upon completion. She wondered if she foolishly blushed.

"Thanks."

Ash's smile grew. "You're almost there."

Misty felt the thickness of the bramble lessen as she made her way up to the porch landing. Relieved, she went to straighten her aching back, but before she had a chance, she felt Ash forcefully yank her to floor.

"What—?" she fumbled, nearly falling on her backside.

"Everyone, duck!"

"Huh?" Brock exclaimed, but promptly obeyed.

Huddled close to each other, the three kids crouched low, hidden behind the bushes. A single car sped down the road, furiously scattering the fallen leaves in its path. As soon as it was out of sight, Ash popped right back up again.

"_Phew_! Close one!" he practically bubbled.

"Are you kidding me?" Misty exclaimed, hobbling to her feet. She looked down at the hand she had used to balance herself on and grimaced, brushing away the feeling of the cold, decomposing wood. "We're hiding from cars?"

"Well, yeah—sorta. We are kinda trespassing," Ash pointed out, placing an apprehensive hand behind his head.

Misty's jaw dropped. "Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!"

"Chill out, Misty," Brock said. "No one's gonna see us with all the trees around. We're pretty well-hidden."

"Man, that sure brought back memories," Ash recalled with a smile, only to then cower from the glower Misty was burning into him.

"Memories of what?" she belted out. "Being a hoodlum?"

"Hoodlum? Aw, c'mon Misty, I wasn't being a hoodlum," he defended softly, hoping to ease that harrowing expression from her face. "I was only having fun with my friends! What's the big deal? Don't worry about it!"

"Don't worry about it!" she mimicked. "Okay, fine, so while I'm _not_ worrying about being picked up by the cops for breaking and entering, I'll also _not_ worry about falling through this rotted deck!" she retorted, turning away from him.

"Shhhhh," Brock hushed. He had since cupped his eye to look into one of the dusty windows. "The trees won't give us away, but you guys talking at the top of your lungs might!"

"Fine! Whatever. I'll be quiet," Misty promised almost snottily, turning away from Ash. Meandering over to Brock, she followed his lead and stooped to get a good glance inside the house. Already having his look, he stood up and allowed her space. Squinting her eyes, Misty went to rub the dirt off the window for a better look, but upon examining the ancient grime on the glass for a short moment, decided otherwise.

"This place is disgusting," she said. She found a relatively clean part of the window and managed to catch her first glimpse at the inside of the home. "Oh my gosh, there's still _furniture_ in there!"

"Furniture, books, clothes—everything!" Ash said proudly, almost as if he were responsible for the condition of the house. As she turned from the window to give him a scowl, he took the opportunity to steal his own peek into the house. "Yup, just the way I remember it!"

"Why is all that stuff still in there?" Misty wondered, curious as much as she was disturbed.

Ash shrugged, turning his hat backward to get a better look. Pikachu leaped onto his shoulder and tried to gaze inside, as well. "I think it was a real old couple, and they died and no one came to claim the house. At least that's what my mom told me."

"How sad," Misty's face fell. She moved away from the window, granting Brock another turn.

"Looks like someone ransacked the whole place," he said. From what he could see of what was apparently the living room, it looked as though a hurricane had torn through. The floor was littered with newspaper, torn books, broken appliances and rotted-out cushions. Not a stick of usable furniture was anywhere to be seen.

Ash noticed that he was no longer filming with the camera and quickly reclaimed it, switching it on.

"Yeah, it's always looked that way," he replied. "Well, as long as I've been coming here." He pursed his lips and observed his friends still peering in the windows. "It _is _kinda sad, I guess."

Suddenly, he straightened and gave a lopsided grin. "But don't you guys think this would have been the perfect place to film the ending of our movie?"

"It does look like the abandoned house at the end of the movie," Brock grinned. "Although I dare say this place is in better condition!"

"I'm glad we aren't filming the end of the movie here," Misty finally admitted out loud. Her eyes darted distrustfully. "This place gives me the creeps."

Ash smirked, then glanced over his shoulder before he gave into his yearn to wander. The familiar feel of the wood giving slightly under his weight, mixed with the aching groan it produced, made his stomach flutter excitedly. He was so tickled to be back at this house. And added to that, he was more than pleased to have Misty and Brock along there with him.

"Where are you going now?" Misty interrogated.

"Just checking around back," Ash replied passively.

As Misty watched him walk carefully down the length of the porch, filming all around him with intention, she took a deep breath. "Be careful." She was sure he heard her, but made no acknowledgement of it. Backing up timidly, and wanting to walk as little as possible on the unstable surface, Misty decided to stick with Brock. Ash would be back shortly, anyhow…whether he liked it or not.

Squinting his eyes against the force of the mounting wind, Ash made his way slowly down the vine-strangled porch. It was massive, sweeping from one side of the house to the other, quite the addition formerly suitable for lounging on beautiful days, taking in the sights of Pallet's breathtaking mountains. He often wondered if the people who once lived there ever imagined their property being explored by prying children, fascinated with the artifacts of their past life.

"Pikachu…"

Ash looked down at his trusty companion and smiled. "Ya like this, Pikachu? This place is awesome, huh?"

Pikachu flicked his ears happily in response. Just the thrill his trainer was displaying alone made this new experience appealing.

"I used to come here all the time," Ash recalled, his voice dragging fondly. He poked his head vigilantly around the corner of the house, taking in the lush forest that was cultivating behind, and continued. The porch stopped near the back of the house, where a door to the kitchen was situated. If he remembered correctly, an _open_ door to kitchen.

Ash stopped halfway down the deck, swinging the camera in all directions to film each angle of the withering home. For a moment, Ash was glad Pikachu was with him. Being back there—lonely, secluded, silent—made his spine involuntarily quiver. There was no doubt that this place used to spook him. He had never come here alone. And part of him wasn't even sure he wanted to be so far from Misty and Brock.

Craning his head a bit, Ash tried to see if the door was still open from where he stood. He wasn't going to go in…but he needed to see. Just…to satisfy his curiosity.

"Pikachu," he bid softly, "do me a favor? Wander down and check and see if that door is open or not."

Surprisingly eager, Pikachu hopped down the remainder of the deck and stopped before the door. Noticing that it was slightly ajar, he turned to Ash and chirped an affirmative "Pika!"

"Oh, man," Ash bit his lip, itching to join Pikachu where he was. He almost had been hoping that Pikachu would have told him the contrary; it would have been much easier on his conflicted conscience. How he wanted to go in there just _one more time_…

"No, I can't," he told himself out loud. Pikachu remained by the door, waiting to see what Ash wanted to do next. Ash noticed this, and quickly shook the lingering desire forcefully from his mind once and for all.

"Come on, Pikachu, let's go back to Misty and Brock."

Pikachu turned on his heels at Ash's command, and scampered up to his trainer's shoulder. Throwing one more disillusioned glance at the entrance to fond recollections, Ash slowly began his way back to the front of the house, his dragging feet scraping along the cracked wood of the old planks.

"_Pi_."

All of a sudden, Ash felt Pikachu tense with alertness atop his shoulder. Very faintly, he could feel the Pokémon's claws dig into his jacket.

"What it is, Pikachu?" he whispered, observing Pikachu's erect ears and widened eyes. His head was twisted slightly in the direction of the house, and it was apparent he was trying his best to pick up any subdued noises or vibrations. Ash's heart began to involuntarily speed up.

Pikachu didn't respond for a few good seconds. Ash waited and watched, silent, suspenseful. Finally, when Pikachu deemed all to be still, he slackened and met Ash's eyes.

"Pikachu," he replied negatively.

It was only when Ash exhaled did he realize he had been holding his breath. Smiling shakily, he reached up and scratched the side of Pikachu's face. "Yeah, this house makes all sorts of weird noises. Don't worry, we're gonna go now. I know Misty'll be happy about that, too."

Ash once again refilled his lungs and commenced his walk back to his friends. He was eager to reunite with them. Though he wouldn't admit it outwardly, Pikachu had made him nervous there for a moment. As cool as the house was, it still had that unshakable eeriness to it. His step quickened a bit as he rounded the edge of the house, his scalp beginning to prickle as his mind began to wander.

"Hello, Ash."

Ash stopped dead in his tracks, his stomach leaping to his throat. All at once, he could feel every hair on his body stand on end. Suddenly paralyzed with panic, he found himself halfway between the corner of the house and the front door, unable to move a muscle or take a single breath. And again, he could feel Pikachu go rigid atop his shoulder, signaling that the chilling whisper he had just heard was not a figment of his imagination.

_Oh my God… What was that! _he could only shriek to himself in distress. He kept his ears sharp, but the only sound he could pick up was his own sudden breathing: fast, heavy, and triggered by a fear that quickly seized him and grasped him tight.

He heard nothing more, but that made the situation no better. Ash _knew_ he had heard his name—he would swear on the life of each one of his pokémon—and as desperately as he could, tried to take control of himself.

"Pikapi…" Pikachu uttered, and Ash swallowed.

"What…was that?" Ash croaked inaudibly. "Pikachu…did…did you hear…?"

"Pika," Pikachu responded uneasily.

His breathing intensified, responding in rhythm to his pounding heart. He was terrified, and forcing his vocal chords to work, he managed to holler: "MISTY, BROCK!"

They were not where he had left them. The front porch was unoccupied, save for him. He could feel part in his body constricting with dread. Where were they? _Where were they?_ Ash's legs yearned to move, but his fear had left him immobile. All he wanted was his friends, and they weren't there—

"What is it?"

As quickly as the panic had set in, it was extinguished. Brock's voice was music to his ears, and in the next instant his two friends rounded the opposite corner of the house swiftly, startled by his unnerved tone. As soon as their eyes met his, Misty and Brock could immediately sense something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" Brock repeated his demand. The group stood on opposite ends of the porch, the confusion of the situation enforcing their boundary.

"I—I heard something," Ash said, his voice peaking with panic. He stood stoically, his arms at his side, clutching the video camera with whitened knuckles. Pale and wide-eyed, he gave off an unquestionable air of distress.

Misty's eyes flashed with surprise. "What did you hear?"

"I…I heard—I heard m-my name," he managed to reply, his gulps of breath breaking up his speech. "Somebody—something—just said my name! It said 'hello' to me!"

"What?" the two of them gasped.

"Yeah!" he attested. Nervously, he stole a prompt glance at the house, cringed almost painfully, and turned back to them. "I heard it! It said—it-it said '_Hello, Ash_!'"

"Pika pika!"

Ash swallowed heavily again, and nodded desperately. "Even Pikachu heard it!"

For a moment, neither Misty nor Brock said a word, gaping in disbelief at Ash's claim. Then, with a huff of what appeared to be a mix of annoyance and fear, Misty tossed her head violently and threw her hands up in the air.

"That does it!" she cried, immediately heading for the front steps. "This is just getting _crazy_! I can't take this anymore! I'm getting away from this place!"

Practically diving into the entangled shrubs, she pushed the branches out of her way forcefully and made her way surprisingly quickly down the stairs. Her heavy, deliberate steps echoed on the suffering wood. Ash watched her with his mouth agape—that had certainly done it.

"Ash, c'mon, cut it out now."

"Huh?" Shocked, Ash swung his attention back to Brock. The older boy was smirking, his arms folded.

"You really didn't hear that."

Ash's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? I did to!"

Brock eyed him skeptically. "You heard '_Hello, Ash_.'"

"Yes!"

"You're crazy, Ash!" Misty shouted, doubled over in vehemence. She was stomping away from them as she spoke, securing a healthy distance from the house. "You didn't hear that! You couldn't have heard that!"

"You're freaking out Misty." Brock motioned to the girl, and Ash bristled.

"Brock, _I'm_ freaked out!" he squawked. "Something in the house just said 'hello' to me! I heard it! It wasn't my imagination!" His voice became more high-pitched with each declaration, cracking awkwardly in the end.

"Ash, it was the wind," Brock reasoned with a chuckle, keeping his voice low in hopes of calming his distraught friend.

"It was _not_ the wind! The wind doesn't say my _name_!"

"You just _thought_ you heard your name," Brock replied. He looked out at Misty, who had halted halfway across the leaf-littered lawn, her shoulders drawn about her protectively. "Ash, the wind is blowing like crazy right now; it's going through every open nook and cranny of this place! _I've_ heard the house settling and groaning since we've gotten here—_that's_ what you heard. With the house settling and the wind, Ash…trust me, you know that's what you heard."

Ash couldn't believe what he was hearing. Paired with the image of Misty stewing restlessly on the lawn, Ash didn't know how to argue what he had experienced without probably going to pieces in the process. No matter what Brock maintained, he could not have mistaken hearing something calling out to him as the _wind_. It had been too distinct, too clear, too…human. Feeling a shiver course through him again, Ash straightened.

"Brock, I swear to God I'm telling you the truth. I heard it plain as day! I was just walking back to you guys and filming, and I—" His eyes suddenly widened in realization.

"Filming!" he exclaimed, bringing the camera up to his face and beholding it as his ticket to the truth. He thrust the camera out toward Brock adamantly. "That's it! I was filming! I probably caught it on tape! You can probably hear it on the tape!" His voice had peaked excitedly, and for the first time since his creepy incident, he smiled.

"Ash, _why_ are you filming?" Misty suddenly blurted. "We're not making the movie right now, so why the hell do you keep that thing on?"

"I'm glad I did!" Ash replied hotly, the quick glimmer of happiness snuffed. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have picked the whisper up! We have to listen to this tape. I gotta prove it to you guys! It's _on this tape_!"

"All right, Ash," Brock said, interrupting his excited babble. "Fine, the house said hello to you." A sly smile crept to his face. "So why don't you say hello back?"

Ash's face blanched. "Hello…back?"

"Sure," Brock shrugged. His teeth gleamed behind his highly amused grin. "Obviously, the house wants to reach out to you. So…reach out to it." Brock took a sidelong glance at Misty and winked at her. She backed up a bit, still noticeably withdrawn, and focused back on Ash.

Ash didn't respond. Since he had heard the whisper, all he could concentrate on was relaying the news to his friends. Not once had he even entertained the notion of trying to provoke the voice to resurface. At just the very thought of it, Ash could feel his body tingling again. By himself, he didn't think he would have mustered the courage to do such a thing, but with Brock standing not too far from him, Pikachu on his shoulder, and Misty…well, still there for the most part, Ash braced himself with a deep breath and turned back toward the house.

The world grew still. Brock and Misty had fallen deathly silent. Or maybe Ash had tuned everything out without realizing as he willed his rigid legs to move toward the front door. He didn't want to go back to the window he had heard the voice come from. He just couldn't find the guts to move _away_ from Brock, as much as he even tried to deny himself.

His heart started to pump vigorously. He didn't know if the front door was open—any time he had entered the house it had been through the back—but if it were anything like the other openings, it probably was. Did he _want_ to open it, though? If indeed there was something in the house that had spoken to him, he wasn't entirely certain if he wanted to _see_ said apparition.

Brock backed away as Ash approached the door, almost unconsciously giving him room. The action didn't make Ash feel any more protected. He glanced at his friend for a moment uneasily, trying to steady the camera upright in his trembling hand, and reached out for the tarnished knob of the Simmons' once-attractive oak door. The wind suddenly blew with a relentless violence, tipping Ash sideways. His sweaty palm barely turned the knob before he could feel the weakened wood giving out under the hesitant pressure he was exerting on it. The door _was_ open, and as soon as Ash realized this, he froze with a fear that made him feel somewhat embarrassed with himself. Never before had he felt this way about the house; any embarking into the place had been done with fascination and thrill. Now that he was _older_, he was afraid? What was the matter with him?

Well, he never heard the house _speak_ to him before. He had to keep that in mind, of course. Still, with his girlfriend, best friend, and loyal Pokémon watching him expectantly—_him_, who at the age of ten ventured out into the world by himself in search of a goal other children often did not find the courage for; who had countless times found himself in the face of danger, only to react unwaveringly and fearlessly for the protection of everything he held dear to him; who was always up for a challenge, regardless of how daunting it was—he did all he could to shake the foolishness away.

The door crackled and moaned as Ash pushed it ajar, abrading along the floor. Immediately, the heavy stench of mildew assaulted his nostrils, making Ash's head reel back and his eyes water.

"H-hello?" he called out quickly, his nerves prompting his voice to trip up. Squinting against the thick, dusty air that drifted from its confines, Ash craned his neck to peer into the house. It was too dark to see anything. His blood raced, fueling his body with adrenaline that he wouldn't have been able to invoke otherwise. He was frightened, and just like that, he realized he wanted out as quickly as possible. Forget the movie, forget the curiosity, forget the memories, he had to get away from there—

"Hello!"

A heavy hand suddenly sprang from the shadows of the boarded-up house, latching itself powerfully onto Ash's outstretched arm. Feeling his heart heave in his chest with an intense horror that Ash had never felt before, he managed to release a bloodcurdling cry as his legs turned to jelly. He instinctively stumbled back in panic, wrenching his arm from whatever had fiercely grabbed it, and tripped over his entwined, chaotic limbs. With a loud crash, Ash collapsed flat on his back on the crumbling front porch, pitching Pikachu off his shoulder and inducing shouts of fright from his two startled friends.

His innate reflexes allowing him to react immediately, Ash began to violently stagger backwards from the door without seeing or knowing what had just attacked him. He couldn't feel the wood scraping his hands and jeans up, didn't realize he was dragging the still-rolling camera along the rough floor, wasn't aware that he was inadvertently backing himself to the ledge of the porch and an abyss of bramble. Everything around him became a dizzy blur. It was only when his head bumped painfully into one of the wooden pillars holding the porch up that he was arrested, and dread paralyzed his body. His eyes were forced to blaze before him and stare on the open door, as emerging from the ominous darkness with the stealth of a preying houndour…

…was his father.

Stunned by his son's brutal fall, Jay cringed with an embarrassed smile and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Whoa, there! Didn't mean to knock you on your butt, kiddo!" he apologized, giving a short laugh. "You okay?"

For a second, Ash wasn't able to transmit what had just happened. Still hyperventilating with shock, his widened eyes fixated confusingly on Jay's capricious ones. Before his mind could catch up with his body, he was beginning to recline with the inherent realization that everything was, indeed, all right, that he was in no real danger. His heart was still raging within his chest, though, unable to fully allow him to regain his composure. Watching his dad slip through the front door and slowly approach him, almost guiltily, compelled his voice to work.

"D-d-dad?" he stammered, gulping in huge breaths of air in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. "Wha…wha…what are you doing here?" He winced as his voice came out so high-pitched it pierced his ears, his vocal chords betraying him in his flustered state.

Jay's face suddenly switched from sympathetic remorse to a knowing smirk. "Actually, I should be asking _you_ that question!" he replied. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I just hear your mother tell you she didn't want you coming here?"

Dazed, Ash blinked. He could only merely gawk at his dad as the question surfaced, his mind such a mess that he was unable to come up with an answer at that moment. Jay continued to grin, his arms folded. Ash could tell, even through his trance, that the pose was hardly threatening. As his senses began to recover, he could tell his father was highly amused at what just played out.

Pushing himself upright on shaky arms, Ash gazed up pleadingly at Jay. "We just came to look!" he avowed. He threw a glance at Brock for justification, who had retreated to the far corner of the porch, rendered speechless in his own shock. "Honestly! We weren't going to go in! I just wanted to show Misty and Brock the house. I just wanted to take them onto the porch to look in the windows. That's all! We weren't going to go in! I swear!"

Jay arched an eyebrow. "You didn't go in?"

"No! We didn't go in!" Ash swore.

"Well, then." Jay stepped back, shoving the door completely open. It sounded like it had been wrenched free of decades-old crazy glue. With a welcoming sweep of his hand, Jay offered the entrance with a broad smile. "What are you waiting for? Come on in."

"Huh?" Ash was startled at this unlikely invitation. Had he hit his head without realizing it? Was this a trick? Why in the world would his father encourage him into the house he was always forbidden to enter?

Jay noticed Ash's utter confusion and burst out into laughter, expecting the reaction. He always loved to throw his kid for a loop. Keeping his eyes on Ash, light with feistiness, he backed up into the house. Ash, befuddled, finally managed to rise to his feet. He stumbled around a bit, still anxious and unbalanced. Dusting the dirt from his seat and hands absentmindedly, he looked to Brock, then around at Misty. Both hadn't said a word since his dad's surprise appearance, and they looked, for lack of a better word, stupefied. If Ash had been beside Misty, he would have been compelled to snap his fingers in her face to bring her back down to earth.

"Come on now," Jay encouraged. "I'm gonna change my mind…" He spiritedly looked out past Ash at Misty. "Hey, Misty, come up here!"

Ash feared she would respond with obstinate refusal, but to his astonishment, Misty quietly obeyed. She still appeared very hesitant as she approached the front steps, but with no assistance, pushed her way through the shrubbery and onto the porch. She looked into Ash's eyes for a moment, mirroring his confusion, but he reacted with a brief shrug. Suddenly joined by Brock, who also gave a vibe of uncertainty, and Pikachu, who reclaimed his place on his shoulder, they shuffled to the front door where Jay awaited them.

"If I knew you guys were going to take a year to accept my invite, I would have popped out sooner!" he chuckled. "Dinner's going to be ready before we know it!"

Ash, Misty, and Brock were met with a blast of dense, stagnant air as they entered the old Simmons place. Immediately, the smell of dust and mold journeyed up their noses, and Brock, always the allergenic one, turned aside and sneezed.

"God bless you!" Jay exclaimed, the smile ever present on his face. He watched as the three kids timidly eyed their surroundings, not advancing much from the vestibule. Each of their expressions was essentially the same, curiosity still mixed with a tad of dazedness at the swift turn of events. Although Jay did detect the slight look of anxiousness in Ash's wandering eyes, figuring he was still quite uneasy from the fright he'd just endured. Jay felt a bit guilty about scaring him so, but even in hindsight he just _had_ to do it—the opportunity was too perfect to deny.

Jay stepped further into the house, doing his best to avoid any litter on the floor, and entered the parlor, which was just off the vestibule. "Be very careful about where you step," he advised. "This place has been rotting for years now, and I don't know how stabile the floors are. Before you go into a room, look around and test the floor before you just go strollin' anywhere, okay?"

Brock and Misty nodded in compliance, then continued to take in the state of the home.

"Wow," Brock came out with first. "This place is…unbelievable."

"Yeah," Misty scowled, carefully making sure she wasn't stepping on any of the trash on the floor. "An unbelievable _mess_."

Jay nodded. "Well, that will happen with years and years of neglect. Then you take into account all the people who've broken into this place since it's been abandoned. It's a damn shame."

"What happened?" Brock asked.

"Ah, you know, I really don't know," Jay shrugged, his nose scrunched in slight repugnance as some corroding wallpaper dangling too close to his face. "I mean, I know it was a couple who lived here last, but as to why no one came to take the house after they died, I don't know. All happened before I moved here."

"It's just so weird that all their belongings were left behind," Misty said. "You'd think _someone_ would want them…"

"Oh, trust me, what people _did_ want, they took," Jay snorted. "Like I said, we aren't the first to come in here uninvited, and I'm sure some people made off with the goods, if you know what I mean."

Brock sighed, shaking his head. "Better they stole the stuff than just let it rot, though."

"Yeah, good point," Misty agreed, her voice drifting as she couldn't help but be distracted at what surrounded her. There certainly wasn't much in the way of valuables left. Of all she could see, nothing but moldy, worthless clutter remained of what was once possibly a well-adorned household. It truly was a spectacle, one that continued to tug slightly at her heartstrings. While it was no tragedy, it still pained her to see how easily forgotten something previously prized to someone could become.

Brock took the initiative to enter the parlor deeper, and Ash and Misty gingerly followed. Jay lingered in the entrance of the room, his arms crossed over his chest and catching himself before he mindlessly leaned back onto the rotting threshold. While he followed all of the kids' actions, he mostly paid attention to his son, wondering just when Ash would snap out of his shock to display his raptness with the house Jay anticipated.

Ash was, in fact, starting to slowly break from his bemused state and come to terms with what was happening. As he allowed himself to amble further into the house, his heart rate was slowing to a more normal pace, though he remained quiet edgy. And wary. It all still didn't seem right to him, being so warmly welcomed into the house. Hesitantly, he stole a sidelong glance at his dad, and flinched when their gazes met.

Jay's chocolate eyes glistened as he grinned, and Ash ducked his head, still startled by his dad's casualness. As Misty and Brock continued their way into the disheveled parlor, Ash approached his dad with a deliberate dragging of his feet.

"How did you know we were coming here?" he mumbled guardedly. His head was still buried deep into his shoulders with culpability.

"How did I know?" Jay repeated almost whimsically. "Call it a dad's intuition. You're all excited about filming your movie here, your mom shoots you down, and then you leave right away acting as though you weren't really that upset about it?" Giving him a sly eye, he smirked. "I'm so on to you sometimes, Ashton, you don't even know the half of it."

That comment made Ash bite his lip. Guess his father could read him better than he thought. Still safely noticing that Jay had that light air about him, he allowed a small smile to lift his face. "Well, how did you get here without us noticing you?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Took the car," Jay replied proudly. "Drove around the back way and parked on the street behind here."

"But why didn't you just follow us to stop us?"

"What fun would that have been?" was Jay's quick retort, his smirk growing into a brazen, roguish smile.

Ash couldn't stop the short gasp of laughter that escaped his mouth. To him, it always seemed like his dad was full of surprises, yet after the surprises were revealed, in retrospect they always seemed blatantly characteristic of Jay. This one was no exception. Why come out and halt mischief without adding a dash of his own?

At his son's amusement, Jay reached over to knock Ash's hat askew. "You punk," he said affectionately. "Hope I didn't scare you too bad."

Huffing, Ash readjusted his hat. "Yeah, you wish!" his eyes narrowed in good fun.

"That's it, lie right to my face," Jay laughed. "Coulda sworn I heard your voice go a few octaves higher than I'd ever heard it!"

"Hey!" Ash cried, his face turning a deep crimson. "Well, maybe you did scare me. A little."

"A little! I'd hate to see if I _really_ scared you then! You woulda ended up in the street!"

Teasingly, Jay nudged Ash repeatedly in the shoulder, which Ash backed up to escape. The blush subtly remaining in his cheeks, he took a deep, thoughtful breath before asking his dad the next thing plaguing his mind.

"Hey, Dad, you…you're not gonna tell Mom, are you?" he asked silently, visibly gritting his teeth in nervousness.

"Just as long as you don't tell her what I'm doing!" Jay replied with a wink.

This time, Ash's smile comfortably spread. "Deal! Thanks, Dad!"

"You got it," Jay whispered, placing a hand on his son's head to seal the pact.

Now that everything was settled, Ash finally allowed himself to relax and fully take advantage of the coolness of what was happening. Turning swiftly on his heels, he made his way spiritedly into the parlor where Misty and Brock were checking out the array of aged treasures scattered about the floor. They hadn't gone too far, and neither had spoken a word since entering the room. While treading carefully and lightly, their steps still echoed sharply throughout, joined with the various groans and creaks of the forlorn house. Pikachu immediately began sniffing around, the hundreds of new scents stimulating his inborn curiosity.

"Ash, maybe you shouldn't let Pikachu walk around too much," Misty suggested with concern as she noticed how actively intrigued the pokémon had become. "There's, like, a lot of broken glass on the floor."

"Oh, that's not the only stuff on the floor," Brock revealed capriciously. All eyes turned to where he had paused in the far corner of the room, pointing at rather large pile of pokémon dung with a glint of boyish amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, _gross_!" Misty exclaimed, grimacing in repulsion and holding up a hand to shield the sight. "That is so—_ugh_!"

"Yeah," Jay warned with a chuckle, "gotta watch for that, too. Looks like quite a few critters enjoyed using this place as their litter box."

"What's the matter, Misty?" Ash teased. All the apprehension he displayed moments ago was indeed gone, replaced by impish glee. "You act like you never saw pokémon crap before."

"Ash," admonished Jay absently, his concentration drawn to his cautiously treading feet where he stood.

"I'd rather not see it on the living room floor, thank you very much!"

Misty's obvious abhorrence only made Ash all the more humored. Girls and their fragility toward all things the least bit foul. Nonetheless, he whistled for Pikachu's attention. The mouse was over on the other side of the room inspecting a heap of mildewing magazines. "Hey, Pikachu. C'mere, buddy; Misty's right. You don't need to be walking on this floor."

Dutifully, Pikachu scurried over and climbed up Ash's outstretched arm. With his pokémon safely on his shoulder, Ash then focused on capitalizing on the opportunity to explore the house that for so long had fascinated him. With his dad there overseeing, there was no need to preoccupy himself with all the reservations that plagued him years before. What a liberating feeling it was to not have to think about getting caught and the repercussions that would follow. For the first time ever, Ash was able to satisfy his inquisitiveness with complete, unbridled abandon.

"C'mon, guys, let's check out this whole place!" he announced excitedly, checking to make the video camera was back to recording. Swinging it in Misty's direction, he found that she was again displaying a face of trepidation, but Ash wasn't having any of it; he grabbed her hand and eagerly dragged her out of the parlor and into the disorderly hallway.

"Ash, watch where we're going!" she cried, retracting her limbs as much as she possibly could as they slipped down the narrow passage. Much like the parlor, it was strewn with random debris: half-disintegrated boxes, broken-down furniture, and unrecognizable garbage. The thought of even _brushing up_ against the rubble made Misty shudder as she unwillingly allowed herself to be hauled to the back of the house by her impetuous boyfriend. Who, she managed to note, seemed to be blindly leading them with the camera raised in front of his face.

"Guys, wait for me!" Brock called after him.

"Too fast!" Jay yelled. "Ash! What did I tell you about making sure the floors were safe before you go wandering into rooms?"

The men's voices seemed muffled from behind the barriers of refuse as Ash managed to get Misty and himself into the kitchen without trouble. Pausing at the entrance, he panned the entirety of the room, first surveying it with his own eyes and then with the camera, making sure that the exposure settled to counteract the lighting change.

"Ash!" Misty scolded. "What the hell! Quit dragging me! I almost tripped over half that stuff in the hallway!"

Ash seemed to ignore her rebuke, taking in the bright, expansive kitchen, his enraptured smile never fading. The irked girl, on the contrary, was doing all she could to keep her eyes from giving in to the temptation to look, instead waiting impatiently for him to answer to her. After a few seconds of scanning the new room, he finally turned, and once more the camera was in her face. Misty fought back the urge to award it a crude hand-gesture.

"Misty," Ash sighed sadly. Thankfully, he lowered the camera as he caught sight of her ticked-off expression. "Chill out, would ya? It's okay."

Misty was ready to shoot back that it wasn't okay—that he was just recklessly striding down the hallway of an unstable structure without barely any carefulness, not to mention disruptively, as this wasn't their house, after all, and they _were_ trespassing, Jay's consent or not, and… And that she didn't want to be there. She didn't _like_ it there. She didn't know how to place her finger on it, but Ash's excitement this time around wasn't contagious as it normally was.

Still, his forlorn look, drastically replacing the joy from just a moment ago, tempered her glowering eyes and prompted her shoulders to sag. She didn't quite understand, but he did get a kick out of this, and he wanted to share it with her. Not having the heart to deny him that, she reluctantly surrendered a small smile.

"I…I know," she relented. In the end, she was positive they weren't going to be there much longer. "Just…let's be careful, okay?"

Ash's mouth twitched into a compliant smile just as Jay and Brock completed their own hallway obstacle course and joined them in the kitchen.

"Hey. _Watch the floors_," Jay stated firmly once again, giving Ash's shoulder a gentle, reminding smack. "I mean it. This place is not safe, Ash. Even if it looks like it might be."

"Right," Ash blinked. "I'll be careful."

"Ooh, hey, the kitchen!" Brock sang, making his way past the rest of the group to brave the new territory. Ash commenced recording as his friend inspecting the lay of the land, stepping over the room's share of trash and fearlessly throwing open cabinets. It was clear that besides Ash, Brock was the one most charmed by the deserted house.

"Wow, you don't mess around, do you?" laughed Jay in amazement.

"Brock, be careful," Misty felt obligated to say, though she couldn't keep the grin off her face as Brock went about his enthusiastic inspection. She winced every time he yanked a drawer open, waiting for the inevitable surprise to jump out at him, but alas, Brock wasn't encountering a single thing out of the ordinary. Not that she wasn't grateful for that; this house already had too much of its share of disturbing aspects.

"Hey, Misty," Brock grinned mischievously. Her barefaced uneasiness didn't elude his observant eyes, and he never wasted the prospect to rag at her expense. "Pay you ten bucks to check out what's in the refrigerator."

Misty felt her stomach hurdle at the thought. "Pay you ten bucks to _get real_."

Without warning, Brock readily waltzed over to the refrigerator, paused a brief moment with his hand on the handle, then swung it open. A collection of gasps rose about him, partially shocked at his daring, but Brock just stood before it, his eyes focusing in it unresponsively.

"Hmmm," he wondered out loud, cocking his head thoughtfully. "Hey, you think Mom would like to make these pork chops tonight?"

"Are you serious, Brock?" Ash shrieked as Misty promptly gasped.

Brock chuckled and waved his joke away. "Nah," he confessed, "I'm kidding. Just jars and stuff in here. Thank God," he added with a relieved huff.

"Okay, that's it, I've had enough of the kitchen," Misty said hastily, eliciting a startled "waah!" from Ash as she lugged him forcefully from the room. "Where next?"

The tour of the next few rooms was short, as even though each of the rooms had its own unique characteristics, the condition was lamentably recurring. Some rooms were easy to enter, others had so much trash amounting that it was nearly impossible. Ash remained mesmerized, never putting the video camera down…nor releasing Misty's hand, of which she was appreciative. Although she was getting accustomed to roaming alertly, barely touching a thing, there was still something troubling about the house that refused to lift.

"Dad, can we go upstairs?"

Of course Ash wanted to go upstairs. When they finally returned to the parlor, Misty was relieved to think that the tour was over and Ash's appeal had been fulfilled.

Instantly, Jay looked leery. "Mmm, I don't know about that, kid," he said, surveying the uneven staircase leading up to the hazy second floor. "Those stairs look like they've seen better days." Still, he reached out with a tentative foot and gingerly tested the first step, applying pressure to it as carefully as possible. The stair creaked a bit, but when Jay felt no give in response to his weight, his foot lifted to the second step.

Ash gamely went to follow, but his dad held out a restraining hand. "No, no, let me get up there first. If anyone's gonna go through these stairs, it's gonna be your old man."

Even though it was a joke, Misty couldn't erase the ugly visualization of Jay going through the brittle stairs crossing her mind. "I-if they're bad, maybe you shouldn't go…"

"_Nah_, I'll be fine," Jay assured flippantly, turning back to his task. "If that happens, just promise me you won't let Ash convince you to leave me here."

"Hey, I wouldn't be like that!" Ash giggled. "But I _would_ film the whole thing so we could laugh hysterically at it later."

"Oh, I have no doubt you would."

Jay was about half-way up the stairs at this point, and while still practicing caution, he was ascending much more swiftly. The flight seemed sturdier than it looked, and as he reached the landing, Brock was already beginning his climb. Ash made a move to follow, but he wasn't going anywhere fast with the dead weight of Misty's hesitation preventing him. After a slight tug of encouragement, however, Ash managed to dislodge her glued feet.

Misty eyed the stairs the entire way up with a tinge of revulsion, taking note that they were once covered with a paisley-patterned rug that had since fragmented to the point of dust. The wood did feel solid, but there was no doubt some warping had taken effect. The air was becoming denser, doing nothing to dissolve Misty's uneasiness. She was beginning to feel walled in and suffocated, making her yearn more and more for fresh air and freedom from the house's confines.

At the top, they were unwelcomingly met by severely bright rays of the low-setting sun piercing through the house's murky windows. Misty lifted a hand to her face to block the glare, the momentary blindness amplifying her claustrophobia. Though brighter, the second floor was definitely no less constricting.

"Misty, watch out!"

Regrettably, Brock didn't realize it wasn't the greatest moment to catch her unawares. After his unsuspecting, playful hands shot out at her from behind the doorway adjacent to the stairs, Misty's earsplitting shriek took Ash by such surprise that he nearly went right back down the stairs from which he came. Didn't faze him for long, though, for barely a second later, he erupted into laughter.

"Oh, man!" he cried boisterously, much to Misty's dismay as she strove to regain a heartbeat. "Brock, you're awesome! That was _great_!"

In one of the rooms down the hall, Jay poked his head out at the commotion that was suddenly echoing throughout the empty hall. He hadn't seen what had happened, but it wasn't too difficult to piece it together. There was his son, red in the face and nearly toppling over with hysterics. There was Brock, who was laughing a tad more smugly and looking ever so proud of himself. And then there was Misty, whose face had been unceremoniously rendered pale as a sheet. In the midst of all the amusement, Jay took note of her failure to muster so much as a smirk.

"Dad!" Ash struggled to speak between yelp-like cackles. "You totally missed it! Brock totally just scared the hell out of Misty!"

"Oh, Misty," Jay sighed with a soft smile as he waltzed over. Placing a comforting hand on Misty's shoulder, he could feel that she was trembling slightly. His urge to laugh with them was clashing with his duty to be the adult, so he settled for in-between.

"Brock, dude? As awesome and perfectly executed as that was, please—don't do that again to poor Misty, okay?"

Looking genuinely repentant from the mild admonishment, Brock shrugged. "I know, I know," he gave in with the last of his chuckles. "Sorry, Misty. I'm just trying to get you to loosen up a bit."

Misty still wasn't inclined to speak, and she didn't know if she even wanted to gather the breath to do so. If she wanted strength for anything, it would be to knock Brock's block off. And then get the hell out of there. Because that was the clincher. She wanted out—_now_.

Jay and Brock dispersed to continue exploring (and were still exchanging a few harmless chuckles at Misty's expense, she happened to detect), but thankfully—and wisely—Ash wasn't bolting off without her to join them.

"All right, let's check it out up here," he prodded. His previously effervescent voice had tapered to a kindly tone, which Misty recognized as his discreet way of making good. Still, the situation was past unacceptable for her. Slowly, her eyes wandered to his, and all at once Ash could tell that she was still unnerved.

"You okay?" he asked with genuine concern. With no response but a wounded stare, he sighed sympathetically. "Do you want me to go kick Brock's ass? I mean, you gotta admit, that was pretty funny, but if you're really upset—"

"Ash," she interrupted him. She took a haggard breath, and for a moment, Ash was afraid tears were going to emanate. "I want to get out of here."

Before he could manage any kind of reply, she hastily added, "_Please_. Just—Ash, please?"

As the boy studied her anxious face, he suddenly realized just how dead serious his girlfriend was being about this.

"You really don't like it here, do you, Misty?" When she soberly shook her head, his eyes softened. "But…how come? Does it really scare you that much? I used to think this place was really spooky, but after today, I realized it's not that bad—"

"No, no," she insisted. The stuffiness was finally becoming overbearing, and she reached up to unzip her jacket. "I'm not scared of this place. I'm just…bothered by it."

"What do you mean?"

"It makes me uncomfortable," Misty elaborated. "It doesn't make you feel that way _at all_?"

Shrugging, Ash's eyes darted about him. "Not really."

And it was clearly evident that it didn't. Ash had displayed nothing but uninhibited enthusiasm since entering the house, and Misty was positive that he had no intent of leaving anytime soon. Part of her felt bad, actually, that she was there, dragging the situation down. Without her disinclination, the guys could have been having an absolute ball—especially Ash. Even in that moment, she felt guilty she was trapping him in this chat rather than letting him wander.

"I mean…" She paused as she mulled over her justification. "This was someone's house once." Her sudden sad tone noticeably piqued Ash's attention. "All this stuff…it used to belong to someone—a family. This was their home and we're…we're just exploring it like it's some kind of funhouse. I can't help but feel like we're being…disrespectful."

Ash bit his lip. "I…" he began quietly, "I never thought of it like that."

"Maybe we're not doing anything really wrong," she said, unconsciously scowling as she inspected the stained, flaking ceiling, "but…well…think about if this were your house. If in twenty years from now, people were tramping around in your house, abandoned and all, and messing around in there. Wouldn't that make you feel bad…i-if you found out about it?"

At first, Ash was about to quickly assert that that would never happen. Thinking that one day his house could be long forgotten, deserted, subject to vandals and rebellious kids seemed automatically preposterous. But then again…did the Simmons family ever think their home would suffer this fate? Truth of the matter was that no one could ever accurately predict their future. It chilled him to think that a happily established mainstay in his life could change so drastically, but regardless, Misty did have a point.

"I guess it would," he confessed, fiddling absently with the controls of the paused recorder. "Wow, Misty…I…I didn't realize that was what was really bothering you about it. I just thought you were scared."

"Scared: no." She allowed a secure smile, feeling much better now that he was beginning to identify with her sentiments. "Grossed out? _Yes_."

Ash snorted impishly. "Well. That's just 'cause you're a girl."

Misty facetiously narrowed her blue eyes, but consented with a shrug. "Yeah, I guess so… But would you really want me any other way?"

Hoisting the camera back at eye-level and focusing on her humored face, illuminated by the warm glow of the autumn sunset, Ash smiled warmly. "Nope."

Seeing the camera recording again made Misty's brow furrow. "You're not…you're not still thinking about filming in here, are you?" she asked, dreading that, despite his shifting view, Ash was still gung-ho about using this dismal place as a movie-set.

"No. Don't worry, Misty," he assured, panning the camera around to document some of the ragged hallway. He sounded slightly disappointed, but accepting. "Dad's cool to let us come in here, but asking to come back to film would totally be milking the deal.

"Besides," he cringed through a smile, "we still don't want Mom finding out about us going in here. I taped a lot, but I think I owe it to Dad to erase it. Or hold onto it in case Mom _does_ find out and doesn't care."

"Highly unlikely," Misty quipped, recalling Delia's adamant objection.

"Dad blackmail?"

"Oh yes, because your dad would _definitely_ let you get away with blackmailing him."

Ash pursed his lips and paused the recording again. "Good point."

Speaking of whom, Jay shuffled his way back out into the hallway and jerked his head back in surprise when he caught sight of the two kids still idling by the top of the stairs. Perplexed, he held out his hands and gave his boy an incredulous look.

"That's it? Just like that?" he asked with a laugh. "Geez, I thought you'd at least want to check it out up here before you lost interest in the place!"

"No, no, it's not that," Ash giggled. "Misty and I were just talking."

"Just talking, huh? Okay, then, but you'd better hurry it up if you want to explore up here. One-time offer, bud. Seriously, after today—no more spooky house."

Ash nodded, stealing a subtle glance at Misty. "I know."

Observing Ash's fleeting look, Jay then tilted his head carefully in Misty's direction. He was pleased to see that her expression had lightened considerably, but she hadn't budged an inch since Brock nearly made her go through the ceiling. "You okay there, munchkin?"

Misty gave him a small, appreciative smile. "I'm fine," she confirmed. "I want to kill Brock, but I'm fine."

As if that were Brock's cue, a loud swishing noise suddenly seized their attention. Their heads twisted to find the jokester exiting one of the rooms with an old, rotted-out broom in tow, sweeping a tiny pile of dust and debris into the hall. Instantly, laugher accompanied the hilariously ludicrous display. Cursing himself that the camera was off for this classic moment, Ash clumsily scrambled to film his amusing friend.

"Don't mind me," Brock sang airily, delighting in his gag, "just cleaning up the place a little."

"Ahh! _Brock_!" Misty exclaimed, trying to stifle her laughs with a hand over her mouth. "Gross! What are you doing?"

"He's wasting his time, that's what he's doing!" Ash laughed. "Hate to break this to you, Brock, but you got a lot of work ahead of you!"

"Seriously! How about saving that energy for later when Riley decides to dump half his dinner on the floor, huh?" Jay snickered, shaking his head at Brock's antics. While Ash certainly garnered most of the attention of the group, the older teen sure did have a knack for stealing the spotlight with his wit.

Brock gave the garbage one final sweep into the corner and tossing the broom along with it. He brushed his hands of the grimy residue left behind vigorously on his jeans, his tongue flopping out of his mouth in pseudo nausea.

Misty was not impressed, but her grin conveyed otherwise. "That was totally _disgusting_! I can't believe you actually picked something up off this floor!"

"Yeah, even _I_ didn't touch anything, Brock!" remarked Ash.

Suddenly, Brock's face gleamed mischievously. "Oh, that's not the only thing I touched! Check this out!"

"Oh, no…" Misty groaned.

Dashing spiritedly back into the room from which he came, he emerged a second later with his acquired treasure. Smoothing out paper that looked to be decades-old and a breeze away from disintegrating, Brock proudly held up an aged painting of a swimsuit-clad pin-up girl.

"Awesome, isn't it?" he whispered, blushing.

Misty slapped her forehead and rolled her eyes while the other two men grinned widely.

"Ahhhh," Jay rubbed his chin as he gazed captivatingly at the picture. "Nice find there, Brocko! Got the true eye of a talented scavenger."

Brock beamed at Ash. "You mind if we hang it up in your room?"

"Eww!" gagged Misty. Ash didn't know if she was comically disgusted by where the picture originated from or the fact that the lady in said picture was too scantily-dressed for her liking.

"_I_ have no problem," he chuckled at Brock's suggestion. "But only if I get to be there when you explain to Mom why you're not only hanging up a picture of a half-naked girl in my room, but where you got it _from_."

"Ack!" Brock cringed as he chucked the alluring print back into the room.

"Dammit," he lamented jokingly, crossing his arms. "That sucks. Can't we just say it randomly fell from the sky? She's too hot to leave here."

"Sorry to say," Jay chortled, patting Brock's shoulder heartily, "my wife is not so easily duped. Trust me, if we want Mom to find out we were here, bringing _her_ home with you would've been a great start.

"Quite a shame, though," he needed to add, glancing disappointedly toward the room where the pin-up girl was fated to expire. "She _was_ hot."

"Tell me about it," Brock sighed sadly.

Despite the humorous banter, Ash's awareness of Misty's request didn't wane. He knew she was still itching to leave, and taking one look at her, having her restive eyes meet his in-sync, validated that. So much for the enigmatic second story of the old Simmons place. While admittedly bummed that he was giving up his long-awaited exploration, Misty's feelings, he realized, meant far more to him than moldering floors and dusty old forgotten refuse.

Ever-vigilant Jay reached out to flick Pikachu's ear affectionately. "What do you say? Ready to head home now and pretend like none of this ever happened in front of your mother?"

Ash looked up at him, smiled, and gave the answer Misty was dying to hear. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"You sure now?" Jay stressed, his tone deepening with gravity. "This is it, Ash. I know how much you were interested in this place, so that's why I did this, okay? But after tonight, I don't ever want to see you in here again. Your mom is right in saying this place isn't safe, because it's not. It's only going to get worse everyday, not better. You understand, right?"

"I do." Ash gave an earnest nod. "Thanks, Dad. For letting us come in here. I really appreciate it."

Smirking, his father clasped a heavy, loving hand down on his head. "You're welcome, squirt. Tell you what, give me that tape tonight and I'll make a copy of it and hide it from Mommy. Maybe in like ten or twenty years from now, we'll be able to watch it without her kicking our asses."

Ash blinked. "You think that'll be long enough?"

"Who knows, who knows," Jay laughed as he gestured for the kids to take to the stairs. They did so carefully, in single file. While Misty was raring to burst right through the front door and out to glorious liberty, Jay led them through the house to the back door from which he'd stealthily entered over an hour prior, the car awaiting them on the opposite street.

Dinner was imminent, and thankfully Ash's growling stomach seemed to be distracting him from dwelling on the fact that he was exiting the Simmons house for the final time. Still, he managed to pause and take a final gander at the rickety old home, a small, satisfied smile perking his lips. The whole adventure hadn't turned out to be a complete loss in the end, and for that, he was content.

"Come on, Ash, I'm starving," Misty broke his reverie, tenderly yanking him by the hand through the overgrown, leaf-blanketed backyard.

As Ash allowed her to guide him—or _drag_ him, rather—to the car, the gears in his head were already churning craftily, thinking of ways he could renovate his basement to do his tiny film justice, make his dad proud…and spook his mother while he was at it.

He still had to get back at her for keeping him home, after all.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Long chapter is long. ^^;; Sorry. I hope it was entertaining enough to make up for the ridiculous length. I had SO much fun writing this, though. Honestly, I can't think of anything in my entire fanfiction career that I've enjoyed doing more than this scene. As stated in my earlier author's note, "The Old Simmons Place" is based off my own cherished memories of exploring a ramshackle, old abandoned house in Spruceton that is now ten years gone (and I still miss it _SO. BAD._). Much like Ash, I often went into this not-so-safe place without my mother's blessing, but always in the company of my mischievous father (who isn't hardly as fun as Jay, but good enough!). While near and dear to my heart, I ventured into the house rather sparingly. I regret that now, because when it was taken from my life abruptly, it left such a gaping hole in me that has yet to be filled with something just as precariously exciting and taboo. If only I could have grabbed a few more mementos and taken a few more photos! What I have now just isn't enough. I can still _smell_ it in my mind, though. ;) So, I've been waiting for the perfect opportunity to pass this little adventure off to the kids (Misty thanks me profusely). Hope it paid off for you lovely readers!

Anyway, I will do my best to have the next chapter up in two weeks, but at this point I just can't promise it. It's a tricky little scene that is requiring a lot of focus and attention to detail, so understandably I'm taking a bit more time with it. I want to make sure it's perfect, especially since it's quite the essential part to this story. So I do ask for your patience if the two-week update mark is passed…if this indeed happens, I will certainly post the status of my progress in my profile.

Have a safe and happy Halloween, everyone! :) Thank you for reading!


	4. Lights Out

**Sorry for the re-upload. **The site keeps doing its best to convince me this chapter is lost in cyber-limbo and I just want to make sure it's showing up now. Hopefully the site will get its act together soon; I'm sure a lot of peeps were experiencing these wacky outages... If you've already read, thank you...please ignore this notification. :)

Man, that was a long two weeks, wasn't it? I mean, it felt like Thanksgiving and Christmas passed by and everything!

Needless to say, I had a very tough time writing this chapter. Why? Who knows. My muse decided to go on vacation for quite a while without my consent and I had to do a lot to drag it back. I hope this chapter is worth the ridiculous wait. At any rate, I can't say I didn't take my time on it to make it just right. :)

**Disclaimer**: Even though I asked, I didn't receive _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch_ _Project_ for Christmas. Maybe it was for the best, for a lot of the things I received for Christmas I wound up returning, much to the chagrin of my family. Not my fault! I felt bad, but I put specific things on my list and people wound up buying the not-so-quite-it variations of said things. If I had received the abovementioned goodies, I probably would have gotten, like, "Pokeman" or "The Blair Witch Mission." Not cool! Also not funny. Sorry. I'm a writer of melodrama, not comedy.

With that…! ^^;

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 4

"Lights Out"

At last, her house was at peace.

Not that Delia had a right to complain otherwise. After all, it _was_ because of her that the kids were not en route to the Johto Region as planned. She was beyond elated that Ash had finally relented and decided to stay home. It had come as such a surprise to her that he was so strong-minded about leaving. When he'd agreed to return home for his birthday, Delia had simply assumed he'd stick around for Halloween, as the occasions were but two weeks apart. Not to mention Ash loved Halloween. Suddenly, her hope for having her two boys home for the holiday was evaporating right before her eyes. Delia couldn't thank Jay enough for his quick, clever thinking in winning over Ash's doggedness.

Her mind kept drifting to the kids as she finished tidying up the kitchen in the company of her drowsy baby. After a full day of running around outdoors, they had decided to keep up the trend and spend the night out to film another scene for their little project. It was not terribly cold, so she had no concerns with them popping a tent about ten minutes walk from the house on the edge of the Viridian Forest. Ash had been positively glowing about the campout, and Delia was not about to harness that enthusiasm; she'd welcome him back the next morning and be grateful her boy was home to stay for a little while longer.

Despite it all, she had to admit that the absence of the wired energy of the older kids and their pokémon was just about the greatest delight granted her at the moment. After a pretty crazy day, she had full intentions of basking in a serene, wonderful night with her husband.

Who…all of a sudden was in the foyer, fully dressed, shuffling into his heavy jacket.

Her face lit with surprise. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Barely following dinner, just as the kids were assembling their things, Jay had announced he was going to turn in early. Ash had invited his father to join in their fun, but Jay affably declined, saying he was looking forward to nothing but chilling in front of the TV. And he meant it, too; before the kids had even left, he was sprawled on the couch in his pajamas.

Now, as Delia eyed her husband, Jay was back in his jeans and boots, a flashlight in hand and his old knapsack hanging off his shoulder.

Jay gave her a sweeping smile. "Going out to check on the kiddies."

"But…" she trailed off, motioning to him in confusion, "you were all ready for the night. What happened? Why are you going out now?"

Zipping his jacket to his chin, Jay shrugged as if it were no big deal. "Just wanna make sure they're okay." With that, he gave her a devious wink and smirk, then turned on his heel toward the door.

Delia's eyes widened in revelation. "Whoa, whoa, wait, hold up!" she cried, dashing into the living room. He halted abruptly with his hand on the knob.

"What?"

"What are you planning?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

At her blunt allegation, Jay was agape. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

Delia could tell he was fighting off a culpable grin, all but confirming her suspicion. "Oh, no, you don't!" she wagged her finger. "Don't give me that. I _know_ that look, Jay."

"_What_ look?"

Delia glared at him askance. "The look that you're _up to something_. Don't think I don't see it! What are you going to do to those kids?"

Jay groaned, amused. "Absolutely nothing."

His tone could have fooled anyone but the all-too-wise woman married to him for fourteen years. Delia scrutinized him intensely for a moment before a tiny leer twitched at her lips. "Bull."

Giving a short laugh in apparent surrender, Jay reached out to give her shoulder a playful shove. "Fine. You got me. I'm going out there to help them film a scene from their movie."

She gave him a face. "You are? Oh. But they've been out there for a couple hours now. I would think they'd be done by now—they looked a little beat when they left. They've might even fallen asleep!"

"Maybe," Jay smiled, shrugging.

"Wait…so you're gonna go wake them up?" Delia asked with a faintly disapproving look, still not catching on.

Jay stared at her for a moment, his eyes lit in brazen joviality and lips pursed to hold back his laughter. "That…would be the ideal strategy."

With that, the light bulb finally went on, and the look of condemning disbelief that took over his wife's face said it all.

"Oh, c'mon, Del," Jay hurriedly chuckled in defense. "It'll be great! They said they had problems 'acting,' so I'm making it so they won't have to! Some of the best filming in history has been done through improvisation, you know."

"That is _not_ improvisation, Jay!" Delia scolded. "That's scaring three poor kids half to death." She couldn't believe what she was hearing. If she indeed grasped what Jay was intending to do, playing such a sneaky trick on the children…well, actually, wait, she _did_ believe it. This was Jay, after all—her overgrown, wayward child of a husband. His personality still didn't excuse the idea, though.

"Don't worry about it," he threw it away affably. "I'm not going to scare them…too much. Just gonna give 'em a little bit of…unforeseen material for their movie. They'll love it. And appreciate me for it!"

Delia faltered with his explanation before a heavy, admonishing stare tightened her pretty features. Normally that kind of expression was particularly coercive, but Jay was far too excited about his goal for it to work this time around.

"I _promise_ you it'll be fine," he swore, his mollifying eyes trying to soften that chiding look away.

After a few uncertain seconds, it did exactly that. Delia finally gave him a crooked smile as she reached up to straighten the collar of his jacket. "All right. Fine. Go off and play the witch. Maybe if you do a good enough job, my son won't ask _me_ to play it again. Fresh kid," she snickered, recollecting how Ash had asked her to "join the cast" at dinner that night. She'd felt flattered until he impishly reveled the part he had in mind for her. Then she'd felt like smacking him.

Jay's tenacious smile widened, this time in gratitude. He plopped both hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "I'll blow the role right out of the water, babe. Listen, I'll be back before you know it—put the squeak to bed, get into your jammies, and you and me'll do some cuddling. How's that sound?"

"After you're done terrifying my kids?"

"After I'm done terrifying your kids, yes."

Another rebuking look, and then a ceding, laughing sigh, "Okay."

With another wink, Jay went to let himself out…

"But, Jay? I'm warning you."

…only to be held up again. Delia pointed a finger stringently in his direction, though her smile lingered. "If what you do tonight scares my little boy so much he wants to spend the night with his mother, you're on the couch, buster. There isn't room on that bed for the three of us. And he gets first dibs, always."

"I am _completely_ okay with that," guffawed Jay. A glint of facetious wickedness twinkled in his eye again. "It'd be totally worth it."

"You are terrible, Jacey, you know that?"

"Turns you on, though, don't it?"

With an over-the-top groan at Jay's suave, brash croon, Delia turned and headed back for the kitchen. She heard the front door close behind her and briefly stopped to wonder if giving him permission to go ahead with this little scheme was the smartest thing to do. Jay meant no harm, but being a classic prankster at heart, he had a history of going a little overboard in his pursuit for fun. Right then, the probability of the peaceful evening she'd invested so much hope in diminished considerably. There was no doubt the results of this escapade could swing either way.

All of her concerns washed away, though, when she was met with the tired, yearning eyes of her precious Riley. Delia couldn't stop the smile that emerged as she gazed lovingly at the little boy in the highchair, the spitting image of her rascally husband. It was past his bedtime for certain, so for the moment, there was enough to distract her from the impending outdoor shenanigans.

"Oh, Riley," Delia sighed, hoisting him into her arms. "Wait till you really get to know your daddy, baby. You'll discover soon enough that, mentally? He's not much older than your brother."

* * *

Misty was still trying to come up with a good explanation as to why she allowed this to possibly happen.

Even though doing so would clearly be in spite of herself, given how she felt at the moment.

After the relief of Ash agreeing to stay in Pallet and the hope that a nice, long week in her safe bed would drive out any apprehension she felt as a result of that inane movie, here they were: outside, in the dark, and at the mercy of the elements of nature and anything that happened to be hiding deep within it.

Leave it to her sharp, thoughtful boyfriend to choose _that first night_ as the one to film the nocturnal scenes of their shoddy little project.

Maybe deeming it shoddy was a little unwarranted. Misty had to respect Ash for the interest and commitment he was putting into the film. It wasn't something she saw quite often from the easily-distracted, flighty boy (well, at least for anything _not_ relating to pokémon). But no one was going to disagree with her that so far the film was a mess. After a full day of meandering and brainstorming and quarreling and rehearsing, all they had to show for it was a brief, lackluster scene of them popping a tent. Not to mention a ton of unflattering close-ups of Misty's face due to Ash's annoying fascination with turning the camera on her at every chance he got, regardless of his proximity.

At first she had been understandably upset that he wanted to camp out to shoot a creepy nighttime scene or two. After all, didn't Ash see that her mind was still at unease from all those correlations she foolishly made with that movie and their personal lives? If so, either he didn't care, or he decided that the best way for her to get over those fears were to face them head-on and as soon as possible. Though he wasn't letting on, she had a pretty solid hunch it was the latter. In truth, she found it a bit endearing that he was enacting his own sort of tough love on her, especially in the implicit way he went about it.

In any case, Misty had to acknowledge that, in the end, it wasn't _that_ bad of an idea. Because as she nestled deep into her snug sleeping bag, Ash's arm slung limply over her shoulders, she found herself surprisingly content, calm, and, most importantly, unafraid.

So they hadn't gotten far with the filming. It didn't matter. They'd had a nice evening regardless. The sun had set quite a time before they decided to camp out; thus, they'd made their way to the site with nothing more than a flashlight, the weak beam from the video camera, and the nearly full moon high in the black sky. Misty couldn't help but confess that the setting was extremely "Blair Witchy" and therefore rather disquieting, but Ash had been so hyper and animated it was hard to remain anxious.

It was certainly due in part to the fact that Ash had discovered his parents' supply of trick-or-treat candy (poorly hidden, what were they thinking?), snatched a variety bag for their outing, and helped himself to nearly half of it. The kid was in a good mood, and it was infectious.

Perhaps if he hadn't been so saturated with sugar they would have filmed a little more productively. He couldn't be blamed entirely, though. True, Ash was breaking into manic giggles every few seconds, but with Brock yawning up a storm (despite shoveling candy bars galore into his mouth, as well) and Misty still not feeling the acting jive, the three were more interested in chilling out and enjoying each other's presences than "working."

Even so, Ash filmed their stamping out of the campfire and their goodnights and their settling in for sleep, and as far as Misty was concerned, they were "in character." It could be usable material—_dull_, but usable. She didn't care much about that at the moment, however. Following a vigorous day, the main things on her mind was sleep, sleep, and sleep. Though a smidgen of her phobia remained, she found that she was far too tired and far too comfortable sandwiched between her two friends to really worry about it.

Now, lulling herself into slumber, Misty concentrated on the parts of camping she truly loved, reminding herself that this _was_ her life, the one she embraced. The sharp scent of the burnt-out fire stung her nostrils. The tent was warm from the thick sleeping bags and their body heat, as well as from the tiny little radiator nestled against her bosom in Togepi. Ash and Brock were beginning to lightly snore, which used to get on her nerves but now made her feel sheltered and not alone. And then there were the other hypnotizing sounds all about her: the perky crickets, the tree branches crackling in the wind, twigs and dry leaves crunching under the weight of heavy, measured footsteps…

Misty's head snapped up and her widened eyes met the consuming darkness. Her heart went from restful to thumping like a sledge hammer in a second, even though it felt like every drop of blood froze still her veins. Keeping her breathing down in spite of her pressing alarm, she tried desperately to focus all her attention on verifying what she thought she had just heard.

Insects, groaning trees, and tumbling leaves: nothing more than the familiar soundtrack of her everyday outdoor life. Misty remained motionless for at least a good minute, letting the sounds seep into her psyche and settle her frantic heart. When she was finally convinced that all was status quo, she allowed her stiff body to release.

_Nice, Misty_, she scolded herself, letting her head fall back to her pillow. _The first thing you're going to dream about is hearing something walking around in the woods? What are you trying to do to yourself? Go to sleep!_

Truthfully, she couldn't blame herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. But at the same time, this was crazy—she was _okay_. Everything here was fine and her stupid paranoia was _behind_ her, so now her unconscious mind was going to do its darndest to taunt her and freak her out?

Drawing one last deep breath in, Misty pulled the edge of the sleeping bag to her chin, closed her eyes, and clutched Togepi closer. She was drained, so much that even that fleeting jolt hadn't altered her sleepiness drastically. Hopefully, this time she'd drift to sleep without incident. Morning would come fast enough.

_Crack, snap_.

Okay, that was _not_ her imagination. That was one thing Misty was positive of as she bolted up again, the whole lot within her torso seemingly climbing her esophagus. Something was traipsing around in the woods, and if her ears weren't deceiving her, she determined it wasn't too far from their tent. At once, every bit of fear she was harboring for the last day, valid or unreasonable or _whatever_, came to a head, and she did the first thing her distressed instincts compelled her.

"_Ash_!" she hissed in a frantic whisper, striving to rouse her boyfriend with a few hard shoves to his comatose form. "_Ash, wake up_!"

It took a little bit of vigor, but Ash began to stir, a deep, aggravated groan emanating from the depths of his throat.

"_Hnnn_? What 'sit?" he griped, sounding like his tongue was made of lead.

"There's something walking around outside!" Misty cried, keeping her voice as low as her terror permitted. "I hear it! It's close to the tent! Ash!"

Though dark as could be, Misty was aware of Ash's disorientation by his lack of immediate response and the laborious wriggling she could feel beneath her trembling hands. The kid had been fast asleep, and it hadn't taken him long...and here Misty thought she'd been the exhausted one.

"…What's close to the tent?" he muttered at last, dazed. His garbled but strident voice made Misty wince so hard a sharp pain coursed through her jaw.

"_Shhh_!" she hushed. "I don't know what it is! You have to listen!"

"Misty—"

"_Just listen_!"

To Misty's relief, Ash obeyed, freezing promptly at her anxious command. Clasping tightly to the folds of his sleeping bag, Misty did all she could to swallow down her audible panic, knowing it would be all the two were going to mind if she didn't gain control of it. It made no difference, however. Once again, the normal sounds of a gusty, autumn Pallet night prevailed over the stillness.

"Misty…I don't hear anything," Ash murmured after a few moments. His voice still dragged sleepily, but thankfully it'd quieted to a subdued volume. He released a massive yawn. "Wha…what did you hear?"

Misty's brow furrowed, confused and agitated by the inconsistency of what she was experiencing. What _had _she heard? And had she really heard it? She _knew_ she hadn't been that asleep to imagine it or mistake some other regular, harmless sound. If only Ash could have also heard what she had to prove—

_Whoa_, she thought, shaking her head fiercely. What the hell was she thinking? All at once, she realized just how absurd her spontaneous hysteria was making this. Why did she _want_ to hear the mysterious noise again?

_Oh my God, I'm going crazy…_

"I—I…I don't know," she finally sputtered. "I…I thought I heard walking. I could've sworn I heard something…outside...s-something like…"

_Like the Blair Witch. _

_Misty. _Stop. It.

"Oh. Well, I don't hear anything," Ash replied nonchalantly. "'Cept the crickets." He yawned loudly again, and Misty could feel him sinking back down into his sleeping bag. "You're probably just hearing the wind blowing in the trees. Relax and go back to sleep."

If only Misty could do so that easily. Instead, she remained sitting ramrod straight as she tried to make sense of what was happening out beyond the tent…what was happening to _her_.

"Lay down," Ash cajoled, his voice wafting gently. He grabbed at her arm to coax her down, but even his mild touch startled her so much she jerked brusquely to the side.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he asked with genuine concern. It didn't help that he couldn't see her, save for her very faint outline cast by the moonlight filtering through the thin canvas. But there was no denying the air of edginess about her shadowy presence.

"I…I dunno, I guess—"

And that's when they both heard it—not the sporadic, phantom footsteps that had been chipping away at Misty's jittery sanity, but an arguably more alarming sound. Off in the bleak unknown of the encircling forest, what sounded like a few sizable rocks began falling quickly and noisily, the shrill ping of their impacts on the ground, the undergrowth, and against other rocks spearing at the kids' heaving hearts. _This_ was what got Ash fully out of his drowsy stupor.

"Okay, what the hell is that?" he asked, his tone a mixture of surprise and perplexity.

"_Pi_?" Pikachu was now conscious thanks to Ash's abrupt jolt, and Misty could hear unease in the pokémon's voice. Thankfully Pikachu was very in tune to the trainers' actions, and it wasn't every night that the kids were reeling about their tent in alarm. Normally, Misty would have felt reassured by Pikachu's bold nerve, but this was no ordinary noise. This was no ordinary situation.

"That's not what I heard!" she shrieked in a whisper. Clumsily, Misty grabbed at Ash and managed to snag his arm, twisting her fingers into the fabric of his flannel pajamas. "Ash, that isn't—that isn't it what I…"

"Guys!" Brock yelled grouchily. In spite of it all, it was this unexpected addition that caused Ash and Misty to leap out of their skins. Obviously unaware of the issue due to being wrenched rudely from sleep, Brock groaned and grunted as his shadowy silhouette rose before them. "What's going on?"

"_Shhhh_!" the two kids responded instantly.

"What—"

"There's something outside!" Misty quickly informed Brock, her distraught whisper demanding him to follow suit. "Brock, you have to be quiet! There's something walking around the tent and—and throwing rocks outside! And—"

"Whoa, whoa, wait, _wait_," Brock commanded stressfully, quickly getting his bearings together. "Misty, I don't…I don't know what's going on. I can't see a damn thing—"

Misty could feel Ash scramble beside her, rummaging around himself blindly and madly. Even with her furious will to adjust her eyes to the paltry light bleeding into the tent, it was still overpoweringly dark, rendering the situation all the more unnerving.

Before she had a chance to question his chaotic ruffling, her eyes were suddenly assailed by a glaring light piercing her dilated pupils. Her hand immediately flew up to shield the vicious ray.

"A-Ash, ahh, what—" she spluttered.

As Misty fought to regain her senses, she quickly realized it was the light from the camcorder. Though dim and largely adequate in more normal circumstances, this time around it was a punishing beam that seemed to stab into the furthest walls of her retinas, unleashing trails of tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Ash, shut that off!" she demanded, the unexpected discomfort causing her voice to raise by accident.

"No, keep it on," Brock countered. He swiped the back of his hand across his watery eyes. "I don't know what's going _on_, Misty! I have to see!"

"There's nothing _to_ see!" she cried hysterically. "Brock, you have to listen—"

"I can't listen if you don't calm down, Misty!"

It was no secret that Brock was definitely the crankiest of the group when tired, the one and only time genuine irritability manifested itself in his otherwise tame demeanor. Despite her anxiety, Misty shut her mouth at Brock's goaded bark. Togepi, stirred by the raised voices, squeaked sleepily in complaint, and Misty instinctively scooped up her pokémon.

"Misty's hearing some weird noises outside the tent," Ash whispered softly, trying to bring Brock up to speed in more composed approach. "I just heard something, too."

"What are you hearing?"

"Footsteps. Rocks." Misty swallowed uneasily. "Really weird stuff."

"Yeah, those rocks were definitely weird," Ash concurred, his voice drifting and eyes roaming as he continued to listen for more sounds.

Straining to keep his eyes open, Brock titled his head and listened, too. Naturally, just as before, there were no strange noises to be heard, making Misty's stomach tighten in frustration. It almost seemed like nature heckling her, again depicting her to be the deranged schizoid in her friend's eyes.

"Misty, I don't understand what you're freaking out about," he said, predictably. He still sounded rather disgruntled at being awoken, which she knew was also hewing at his patience. "We hear noises at night _all the time_. The woods are filled with pokémon. That's what you're hearing."

"None of those noises I heard sounded like pokémon," Misty contended, bristling. She clutched Togepi close beneath her chin.

Brock blinked tiredly. "But that has to be what it was. What else could it possibly be?"

Misty withdrew her head into her shoulders at his slightly condescending tone. That was a question she wasn't quite sure she wanted to answer as honestly as her wary, edgy senses were prompting.

"Of course it has to be pokémon," Ash answered instead, though a touch of misgiving was evident in his whisper. "There's a million of 'em out here. Coulda been anything making that noise. Right, Pikachu?"

"Chu," the mouse replied, his ears and tail still erect as he continued to try to ascertain the source of the enigmatic noises.

Misty turned to her boyfriend. "Ash, we heard _rocks_ falling outside," she grated, her eyes wide and demanding a firmer, more assenting explanation. "That's not a sound we've heard before!"

_Except…except in… _

Ash flinched a little at her point, but quickly picking up his head. "S-so? There could be a lot of pokémon who would mess around with rocks outside! Like, uhhh…" His eyes darted as he thought quickly. "Like geodude—r-right, Brock?"

His jaw tightening in a cringe, Brock contemplated it for a second before shrugging uncertainly. "Well, yeah, geodude throw rocks all the time…"

A glint of relief flashed in Ash's eyes. "Then it _could_ be a geodude! There are a ton of them in the Viridian Forest!"

Allowing the convincing explanation to take root in her brain, Misty felt her fear lessen slightly.

"But Ash," Brock went on hesitantly, leaning in to stress, "geodude aren't nocturnal. They don't have good enough eyesight to see at this time of the night. That would just be weird."

And in a flash, Misty's heart clenched again. Her impetuous protest to Brock's reasoning was ready to blurt out before she reined it in with a deep breath. Of all times for Brock to demonstrate his broad knowledge of rock pokémon! She reluctantly believed his statement, as much as it induced her nerves to tremor again.

Ash wasn't about to accept Brock's argument…although it wasn't quite in the way Misty would have went about it. "Well, what if something's attacking it and it's throwing rocks to defend itself?"

"What if…what if what's attacking it attacks _us_?" Misty asked timorously.

"Ash, don't be ridiculous," Brock said quickly, narrowing his eyes. "We'd hear pokémon cries if that were the case. Nothing's being attacked out there! There're so many other things it could—"

"Hey, well then maybe it's spearow!" Ash spewed out another speculation, interrupting Brock's second attempt at restoring calm. "Maybe the spearow are, like, dropping rocks out of their nests!"

Later on, when she had a chance to really evaluate what had gone through her mind during that nerve-racking episode, Misty couldn't believe what she'd allowed herself to consider, if only for a split second, in those desperate moments to dispel her fear. Because even though she didn't recognize it at that moment, Ash had no idea what he was talking about.

So much for _his_ extended knowledge on pokémon attributes and behaviors.

Brock scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're kidding, right?" he chuckled sardonically. "Spearow are dropping rocks from their nests. Ash, come on."

The boy shrugged dramatically, throwing the light from the camcorder dancing across the ceiling of the tent. "I don't know, I'm just thinking here!"

"Maybe you should stop thinking and _go back to sleep_," Brock suggested emphatically. "I don't know about you, but I don't hear anything. Seems like everything's fine to me. You guys gotta chill out."

As Misty watched Brock settling down onto his pillow, her anxiety began churning again, realizing that no explanation was given for what brought about this whole scenario in the first place.

"It's not just about the rocks, though!" she cried. It was getting harder and harder to maintain the whispering. "What about the footsteps? I know I heard the footsteps. Those definitely didn't sound like they belonged to a pokémon! They were really heavy!"

Brock moaned, facedown in his pillow. "Misty, need I remind you how much sleep you got last night? Maybe you should try it, too. We all need rest; it's been a long, _long_ day and I'm tired and you're tired and let's just sleep now, okay?"

"But Brock—"

"_Misty_."

It couldn't have been timed better. For as soon as another one of Brock's muffled growls sounded from the folds of his pillow, another crack of a branch echoed outside the tent—then another, then another: deliberate, methodical, not at all light. And, to Misty's intense dismay, much closer than she sensed she'd heard them before.

Something was _unquestionably_ walking around the woods in the vicinity.

"_Omigod_!" she croaked, her vocal chords suddenly devoid of their power.

Brock's head rose at once, and the entire tent went deathly still. Misty's grip tightened more strongly around Togepi. There was no doubt about what she heard this time. She was as wide awake as she could possibly be, completely aware of her surroundings and her own condition, regardless of Brock's attempts to assure her that her fatigue was contributing to her trepidation. Those were _footsteps_, and they did _not_ sound like that of a small creature's.

At that moment, Misty wanted nothing more than to transport herself out of that tent—be back at the house, buried under piles of heavy, warm blankets in her tiny bedroom, free from any degree of danger or the plagues of her own mind. Whether the source of those chilling footsteps was harmless or…or _not_, it was just _too soon_. She had ventured out of the house way sooner than she should have. She wasn't ready. She hadn't given herself enough time to recover from that _damn movie_.

And if matters couldn't be any worse, all of sudden Misty realized something in the midst of her consternation—not only was Ash utilizing the light from the video camera, but he was using the video camera itself. He was _recording_.

"Ash! Shut that off!" she hissed incredulously, throwing her hand over the light on the video camera. "Shut the camera off! Don't have any light!"

"Wh-what?" he faltered, yanking the camera from her reach. "Misty, stop—"

"No!" she practically whimpered. "You can't let it see we're here! All lights off!" She nearly choked as she inadvertently recited an exact quote from the accursed movie that had instilled this extreme derangement within her.

"Misty, Misty!" Brock grabbed at her flailing arm, attempting to settle her down. "Chill out, please! It's okay!"

"No, it's not okay!" Misty turned on him, her face warped with fear, panic, and furious resolve. "There's something out there and he's _filming_ this! He's treating this like another stupid scene from his movie!"

"I am not!" Ash argued peevishly, yet the camera was still poised at his shoulder, still rolling, still shining into Misty's eyes.

"You are to!" accused Misty forcefully, his blatant fib now summoning anger amidst her hysteria. "It's bad enough you have the light on, but why do you have to film, too? This isn't a movie, this is real!"

"I know that, but _so what_? Everything's okay!" Ash blurted, unthinkingly contradicting his last avowal. "Whatever's out there isn't dangerous, Misty! Nothing's going to bother us, just like Brock said! Now, come on! These noises are perfect for the movie! Why can't I have a little fun?"

Aghast at his shocking display of ignorance and idiocy, Misty's jaw dropped. "This isn't _fun_, Ash! I am scared _to death here_!" She punctuated each word with biting emphasis. "There's something huge out there and you aren't taking this seriously!"

"What is there to take seriously? It's just some random pokémon walking around the woods!"

"How do you know it's just some random pokémon?" Misty cried in the most vicious whisper she could produce, not caring anymore how much of her phobic complex was showing through. "How do you know what's making that noise isn't really dangerous, couldn't hurt us?"

"Because there aren't any _really_ dangerous pokémon near Pallet Town!" Ash yelled, his tone weighed down by a sense of entitlement in speaking of his home area. "You know that!"

"Yeah, well, that's what I always thought, too, until we ran into that ursaring!"

Misty didn't realize the impact of what she said until she managed to register the meaning behind Ash's suddenly dreadful gape. Just like that, things started to become clearer—frighteningly clearer. All of a sudden, something in this unsettling, puzzlingly eerie scenario finally made sense…and ironically enough, it rapidly made it all worse.

"Oh, crap," Ash uttered. His neck bobbed with a tremendously visible gulp. "You don't think…?"

Misty shook her head back and forth, the whites of her eyes showing. "Oh, my God…no."

Immediately, Ash killed the light of the camcorder, plunging the tent into darkness. Despite being what she wanted so urgently moments ago, the pitch black did nothing to ease Misty's nerves. While petrifying but preposterous thoughts of a skulking supernatural entity at last began to wane, the realism that set in was even worse than anything her crazy mind's eye could have concocted. Her heart hammered in her chest.

_Please no…please not that!_

Silence seized the tent as the memory of that frightening evening over a year ago weaved its way back into their minds. Misty's spine quivered as she recalled that scary couple of hours they spent wedged uncomfortably in a tiny sliver in the rock, cornered by a gargantuan, incensed ursaring, irritated by Ash's foolhardy attempt to bring home a capture—_it_—at the end of a long day. To Ash's credit, ursaring were extremely rare in the Kanto area, and it was hardly what he'd anticipated engaging in battle with a team of overworked, burnt-out Pokémon. But it had been a stupid move, not only putting their lives in danger but triggering one of the hugest, most awkward fights Misty had ever seen ensue among the normally congenial Ketchum family later that night.

A few more heavy footsteps sounded, and this time there was no denying that the source was inching its way closer and closer to the tent.

"Okay…yeah, that could totally be an ursaring," Brock whispered, barely perceptible. It was the absolute last thing Misty wanted to hear come from the eldest of the group, the one always in charge of keeping his two younger friends' silly worries and vivid imaginations at bay.

"It's okay, it's okay," Ash chanted, his voice drifting through the darkness with an unconvincing tremor of apprehension. "If…if we keep quiet and still…it won't bother us."

"It might be too late for that," Misty replied. She hated that she was being so pessimistic, but to her it regrettably seemed to be just that. After the camcorder light and talking and the jostling and not to mention their _scents_…

"No, no, not necessarily," said Brock. "Ursaring, they… It might not want anything to do with us. Ursaring don't always attack. Only if they're provoked by something. Only if we bother them in some way."

Misty was breathing noisily through her nose. "We're…we're not bothering it?"

"I can't see how," stammered Brock. "I mean, the—the only other thing that could get its attention is food, but we don't…"

Brock's words dropped off so suddenly, and the pause that hung heavily in the air that moment was the most terrible of all. Because it was right then that all three kids came to same awful realization.

"Do…do empty candy wrappers…g-give off a smell?" Ash finally asked reluctantly.

Robotically, experimentally, Misty released one hand from grasping her tiny egg pokémon for dear life and swept it around her periphery. A sharp intake of breath ached in her lungs as it brushed against a myriad of crinkling plastic wrappers, the product of her boyfriend's gorging and carefree sloppiness, all certainly emitting potent aromas of chocolate, nuts, and caramel—all scents that would certainly grab the attention of a curious scavenger.

Misty hadn't thrown up in quite a while, but she thought she just might at that very moment.

It was no use yelling at Ash for being his messy self. No use voicing any more of her fear. No use thinking she could possibly clear away all the scattered wrappers in the dark and smother the odor that had probably already reached the bear's sensitive nose.

Outside, nearer, more footsteps. Misty held her breath as she tried to listen closely, distinguish more concrete evidence of what they were dealing with, but heard nothing more. She didn't know what to make of the fact that a generally noisy creature was emitting no other sounds, though…she didn't know what to make of anything of this night anymore.

She just wanted it over, she wanted to be safe. She wanted someone to protect her.

"Ash," she whimpered, "do something."

Ash was quiet for a moment before replying, "I…should I?"

"We have to be ready in case we do," Brock advised.

"Okay," Ash replied seriously, and right away began contemplating what his prospective action might be. He reached out in search of Pikachu, and upon finding him, wrapped his hand around the mouse's chest steadily. He could feel Pikachu's alertness, and a much-needed rush of confidence slightly eased his anxiety. Pikachu was here for them. It unnerved Ash that he couldn't see anything, but he knew Pikachu would make up for the dark with more naturally acute senses.

One thing Ash was certain of, to his relief, was that this was definitely not going to be a repeat of that terrible previous encounter. It couldn't be—not with possession of his main starters, all rested, all primed, all with their respective powers assembling one wide-ranging, complete force.

His father's admonishment to never drain every one of his pokémon at one time was ever-present in his bank of unforgettable advice. Sensing Pikachu's keenness, even without his trainer's directive to prepare, made Ash wish Jay was there just then so he could thank him for that valuable guidance—and show him that he was indeed following it. There was nothing more fantastic than a pokémon ready for battle, ready to protect.

The only thing that frightened him was the initial action…if one was needed. Ash was not looking forward to making the first move from the tent to confront their mysterious visitor.

Misty wasn't, either.

"Don't go out there," she beseeched weakly, almost reading his mind. It sent a chill up Ash's spine.

"I…won't," he promised, biting his lip.

But when he heard another branch snap, this one sounding as though it was literally less than ten feet away, Ash's heart lurched. His promise was genuine, but how the heck was he going to scare this…_whatever_ this was…away before it made the opening move? Could they even afford to give it that advantage?

If their worst fear was accurate and what they were indeed dealing with was a famished bear being lured to their rickety shelter by the prospect of sugary provisions, then he knew he couldn't just wait and risk that hazard—he needed to act.

"Okay," he whispered again, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his beating heart.

"What are you going to do?" Misty asked, and Ash could hear in her wobbly voice that she didn't quite believe his pledge. He didn't blame her distrust; he knew there were times in the past that his reckless self would have leapt out of that tent in a second to defend his friends with the conviction of having trusty pokémon. He knew better now—even if it did take a few foolish decisions along the way to cultivate that wisdom.

Another grinding of leaves, heavy and ominous, on the opposite side of the tent made all three of the kids' heads whip around, although they couldn't see their synchronized reaction. The presence was circling. Ash felt the vise-like grip that Misty inflicted on his arm, though, grasping him tight as if she feared he was about take off. It hurt—she was beyond terrified and didn't realize her strength—but he didn't act in response. Cringing, he let her keep a bruising hold of him, allowed her that bestowment of assurance he could barely manage in his own underlying terror.

He wished there was someone _he_ could grab a hold of, but he quickly swallowed down that desire.

_They're relying on me._

"It sounds like it's really close," stammered Brock.

"We have to attack," Ash announced. He tried to retain as much poise in his tone as he could. His hand slid from Pikachu's chest to a gentle grip on his ear, sending silent, trusting vibes to his comrade. He felt Pikachu shift readily in place accordingly.

"How?" Misty squeaked.

Ash considered his idea. Since he very rarely challenged a pokémon from hiding (and from their tent to boot), he wasn't quite sure how this was going to work out. He only saw one possible scenario, though, and decided to voice it.

"Simple"—_although was it?_—"as soon as we hear…the thing's footsteps by the door of the tent, I'm gonna rip it open and have Pikachu shoot a thundershock out. That oughta take care of whatever it is that's out there."

"I don't know about that, Ash," Brock said immediately. They could nearly hear him shaking his head in the dark. "I don't think that's the smartest idea."

"How come?" Ash sounded deflated and panicky all at once.

"Think about it," the older teen explained. "Having Pikachu just release a shock through such a small opening might not be as easy as you think. Considering how dark it is and—and how much of a crapshoot that would be. If we got any kind of kickback from that, Ash…could you imagine? It would be horrible."

"Oh, God," Misty gasped.

Cringing, Ash realized Brock had a very important point. Though Pikachu was pretty precise with his attacks, Ash couldn't recall him ever dealing with the current dim conditions. It was too much of a risk—especially since Pikachu would have to use a considerably strong thundershock to drive away a pokémon of ursaring's mass. Any kind of kickback, if it happened to hit one of the kids, would impair them enough to jeopardize their safety in the bear decided to strike back instead of retreat.

"Okay—okay, I won't use Pikachu. But you'll be here if we need you, buddy, all right?"

"Pikachu," the mouse complied.

Clasping a hand over his mouth, Ash contemplated his next alternative. Running down his limited familiarity of the intimidating pokémon, Ash frantically tried to think of a suitable opponent for ursaring with a brain hindered by tension.

The footsteps continued to orbit the tent. Misty could feel the hair on her neck stand on end as she felt the presence to her back.

"Ash, use Totodile," Brock hastily ordered.

"Totodile?" Ash's hand was already groping through his bag for Totodile's pokéball without even waiting for his friend's affirmation.

"I think water is good to use against ursaring. I don't know. We'll find out. At least we can move it away from the tent enough without it hurting any of us in the process. It's just water. And then you can go after it with Pikachu if you really need to."

Ash's heart began racing faster as Brock's suggestion took shape in his mind. That was doable. That might work. Finding Totodile's pokéball in his backpack in the dark was no easy task, but thankfully Ash was able to feel the different contours of the lure ball to identify it. Without delay, he pressed the release button and liberated the pokémon from his ball—

"_Totood_—!"

—and immediately clamped a hand around Totodile's snout to stifle the boisterous, excited creature.

"Totodile, Totodile, _shhh_, _shhh_, _shhh_!" Ash whispered madly, chancing getting accidently bitten by his hyperactive pokémon. "Quiet now! It's okay, it's okay!"

Not used to being apprehended in such a way after being released—and in the dark, besides—Totodile squirmed in Ash's hands and fought to tear his jaws from his trainer's grip. But Ash persevered, determined to keep Totodile from blowing their cover. Within a few seconds, he was able to calm Totodile down and the pokémon surrendered under his hold.

Maybe Brock _didn't_ have the best idea (couldn't blame his decision-making in the heat of a hectic moment), but now that Totodile was out and subdued, Ash refocused on the task at hand.

"Easy, Totodile," Ash soothed, now cradling an arm around Totodile's scaly belly as well as retaining a firm but gentle hold on his jaws. He had faith the pokémon would cooperate with him, and sure enough, he could sense Totodile perk at his tone. "Easy. We need you, buddy."

"Ash, it's behind us again," Brock updated, his voice descending even lower. "It's still there."

_Crap_, Ash thought. It was becoming more and more likely they were going to have a real haphazard event on their hands in a matter of moments.

"Brock, take the camera," Ash quickly charged, grabbing the camcorder from his side and thrusting it in Brock's direction. It knocked hard into Brock's receiving hands and was awkwardly claimed. "If we need light, use it, okay?"

"Okay," Brock accepted.

"Misty?"

"…Yes?" she replied in a small, uncertain voice, wondering what in the world he was going to bid her to do.

"Get back."

Ash was able to make out the slit of the entrance of the tent and steadied himself before it on his knees, pointing a very compliant Totodile in its direction. Shakily, he took a deep breath. He didn't understand why he was so nervous—perhaps it had something to do with the unpleasant memories of his last encounter with an ursaring. Perhaps it had to do with the disorientating darkness, and that he had no idea what he was about to actually face. Or perhaps it had to do with the fact that his girlfriend and best friend were behind him, hinging on him to restore peace and security to their night.

It didn't matter how many times he had been placed in tight spots similar to this…a degree of apprehension was forever present. Quite a bit of stress constantly placed on the shoulders of a boy just entering his teenage years.

Luckily, Ash had a pretty strong water pokémon and electric pokémon currently at his disposal. And as the subtle stomping began to creep closer and closer to the entrance of the tent, Ash couldn't have been more thankful for that.

"Here we go," he announced to no one in particular. Reaching out to grab the folds of the entrance, he ground his teeth and waited for the exact moment he heard the footsteps approach the precise vicinity. He was positive his heart was about to rupture.

So were the rest of the tent's inhabitants.

When he heard the splinter of a branch literally a foot or two from his perspiring face, every muscle in his body seized. This was it.

"Okay, Totodile!" he shouted, so engaged in the stressful frenzy of the moment that he didn't hear Pikachu's sudden, frantic plea to '_wait!'_, "water gun!"

Simultaneously, Ash tore the tent open, and Totodile let loose his fierce torrent into the black unknown. Misty promptly screamed, the instinctive action freeing all the silent fear she had pent up for the last ten minutes, but it was no match for the cry all three kids heard as Totodile's attack indeed made successful contact with their mysterious prowler.

…And it definitely was _not_ the angry roar of an ursaring.

Ash's eyes widened the instant he believed he recognized the startled, painful yelp outside the tent, and his worries were confirmed as Pikachu took off—not to continue Totodile's onslaught, but to rush to the aid of its innocent victim.

"What was that?" Misty exclaimed, out of breath from her shriek and hysterics.

"Brock, the light, the light!" Ash ordered. He staggered as he tried to rush out of the tent, falling into the soggy flaps of the tent and getting a slap to the face of wet, frigid canvas. When he finally managed to stumble out into the open, he was thrown off by the dark for only a moment before Brock emerged with the camcorder. It only took a single, disembodied groan for Brock to direct the light in the right direction and finally reveal the source of all the commotion.

"Dad?" Ash cried, more out of concern than surprise as he rushed over to the prone form of his father sprawled out flat on his back on a blanket of sticky leaves. Jay was haggardly pushing himself up by his arms as Ash slid to his knees beside him.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you!" the boy began apologizing frenetically. Observing his father as best he could by the camcorder light, completely soaked, visibly hurting, and frightfully disoriented, Ash's heart raced. His hands hovered nervously over Jay, afraid to touch him, disturb him. "Are you okay?"

"_Arrrrgh_," Jay uttered a rumbling moan in reply. His eyes were clenched shut as he reached a hand behind his head, rubbing at it gingerly. Ash held his breath, panic settling in at the thought of Jay being seriously hurt. How bad had Totodile's attack been; what kind of force had he put behind it? He had no clue; he hadn't seen the water gun—it had been too dark.

Ash's stomach twisted as he realized he had just blindly sicced his pokémon on his father—and possibly injured him.

"Dad…?" he whimpered again, desperate for a more lucid response.

At last, Jay's eyes cracked open, and to Ash's shock, a shaky smile followed soon after.

"Shit, Ash," he managed a faltering laugh, "wazzat your totodile?"

Ash, taken aback, blinked a few times before replying, "Uhh…y-yeah…"

Jay grinned—a bit painfully—and dragged a hand up and across his face, wiping the water from his eyes and sweeping his sodden hair off his forehead. "That was awesome," he said, genuinely impressed.

"Awesome" was _not_ the first word Ash would have used to describe what had just happened. But if that's what Jay wanted to dub it, then what could Ash say? The man who had just been pummeled by a surprise water-gun attack in the middle of the night had every right in the world to call it what he wanted.

Oh, God. He had _water-gunned his father_.

"Dad, are you okay?" Ash repeated silently, relentlessly, again.

Letting out another groan, Jay offered his arm out to Ash, soliciting assistance. His son quickly acquiesced and helped Jay up. After wobbling a few times unsteadily on his feet, restoring his equilibrium, Jay began to brush himself down, sending flicks of cold water in all directions. His clothes hung heavily from him, fully drenched, and getting a good look at himself, Jay threw his arms up and chuckled helplessly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he conceded, taking it all in stride. "A little…wet. And cold. But I'm okay. I gotta say, I wanted a reaction out of you guys, but I didn't quite expect to get knocked on my ass like that. Wow."

"I'm sorry," Ash winced, hanging his head guiltily. "We didn't mean to attack you. We…" His voice lowered a bit, embarrassed. "We thought you were an ursaring."

Jay's eyes widened in incredulous amusement. "An _ursaring_?" He guffawed deafeningly. "Man, I know I gained weight recently, but I didn't think it was _that_ bad!"

Ash could only gawk speechlessly. He was certainly glad that his dad appeared to be unharmed and not in the least bit upset with what just transpired, but it was taking him a moment to compose himself after such an alarming ordeal. His heart was still trying to return to its normal pace.

"So that's what you guys thought I was, huh? A pokémon?" Jay went on, a hint of disappointment in his tone. "Not for one moment did you think I was a witch?"

When Ash and Brock just exchanged a brief glance, Jay shook his head with a sad smile. "Man! What's happened to kids' imaginations nowadays? If I'd've heard all that when I was your age, I woulda thought there were Martians or zombies outside my tent. You kids are too smart for your own good.

"Wait, what am I saying?" Jay quickly contradicted before the kids had a chance to reply, throwing away his last statement with his wave of his hand and frown. "I should be _glad_ you guys are on the ball like that, thinking like that! What if that really was a big, nasty-ass pokémon outside your tent? You did a good job, Ash. You almost killed your old man, but you did a good job."

Scratching the back of his head, Ash gave a tiny, culpable shrug. "I—I'm sorry."

"Would you stop apologizing?" demanded Jay frivolously. "Why should you be sorry for protecting yourself so well? Besides, I deserved it! You totally got me back for all the crap I pulled on you kids today. I'm almost surprised you didn't figure out it was me right away!" Jay smirked smugly. "Heh, guess I did a better job than I thought."

"But…but how _did_ you do all of that?" Ash asked, his father's statement suddenly making him call to mind all the weird noises that had hassled the trio for the last half-hour. "We—we heard _rocks_ and everything…"

Jay's damp face lit up. "Ahh, you did? Awesome! I wasn't sure how that was going to work out. It wasn't easy finding rocks with that crappy little flashlight I brought with me." Realizing that said flashlight was no longer in his possession, Jay quickly scanned the area around his feet to try to find it, but the camera's light was not sufficient enough. "Wherever it is now. Anyway, I tried to make it sound as Blair Witchy as possible. Guess I flunked with that. But that's what I get working with a bunch of smart, no-fun kids."

For the first time since the incident, Ash smiled faintly. "Well, it did sound scary, Dad. I did tape some of it!"

"You did!" Thrilled, Jay pumped his fists in the air a few times before he froze, his face falling rapidly. "Did you happen to tape the part with me sailing through the air like a sucker?" he eyed Brock sheepishly.

"Oh, uh…" Brock faltered, examining the camera curiously. "No, I guess not. I didn't even think to tape."

"Oh well, that's a real shame," Jay lamented in jest. He nudged Ash and purposely muttered loudly: "Don't let _him_ film anymore. Can't trust him with key scenes, apparently."

Ash giggled. "Well, he had an excuse. We were scared! You did do a good job freaking us out. Misty especially! She was going real nuts…"

Trailing off upon mentioning Misty, Ash suddenly realized he hadn't heard a single peep from her since their escapade had ended. A bit of panic rushing through his veins as he recalled just how badly she'd dealt with the incident, Ash rapidly turned to the tent to locate her.

"Misty—"

When he caught sight of her, his words froze abruptly on his tongue. She had emerged from the tent like the rest of them, but hadn't ventured far from it. Perched precariously in the entrance, her arms curled around herself and an edgily flummoxed togepi, the young girl was the perfectly deplorable picture of someone totally and terribly unglued. At once, Ash's considerate nature kicked into gear, but before he had a chance to even so much as utter a word to her, his father acted.

"Aww, Misty," Jay sighed sympathetically. He moved past Ash and Brock and knelt carefully before the withdrawn girl.

"Hey," he greeted her, soft and mild. When she didn't so much as lift her eyes from where they were directed at the ground, his shoulders drooped guiltily. "I'm sorry about that, Misty. I…I didn't know I was going to freak you out that badly."

His apology all but fell on deaf ears. Misty didn't reply; her blank stare still refused to even acknowledge him. Jay frowned and bit his lip.

"Yeah, I guess I should have remembered how much that movie really bothered you, huh? Maybe this was going a little too far? I should've quit while I was ahead after the Simmons house, huh?"

Ah, there it was. The tiniest of shrugs, but those sorts of gestures never got past Jay. He couldn't believe how disturbed the teenager before him appeared. Though he couldn't view her face too well in the deficient lighting, there was no denying the distress, fatigue, and unhappiness Misty was generating. At that moment, Jay felt like a grade-A jackass. He'd meant to have fun, but never intended on terrifying any of the kids so severely.

_Oh, Del_, he thought, trying to humor himself in his remorse, _I've sure got a petrified kid on my hands, but it ain't the one you were expecting!_

"Hey, hey, how 'bout this!" he said eagerly, trying to lighten her mood. He thrust his soggy arm out to her, presenting his shoulder mere inches from her reticent form. She shied away slightly at the startling movement. "Here, Misty. If it'll make you feel better, you can give me a punch. Go on, sock me as hard as you can in the arm. I'm a jerk, I deserve it."

Not too unexpectedly, Misty didn't comply. She hardly took a second glance at his outstretched arm. Jay wasn't sure if it was because she didn't feel comfortable with a proposition so strange or if she was actually so upset with him she couldn't even grant him that acknowledgement.

"Come on," he egged her on, giving her a crooked, little smile. "You know how many times my son probably wanted a chance at this? You're wasting a very rare, golden opportunity here, kiddo."

Rarity or not, Misty wasn't going to bite. Even his beguiling voice wasn't going to do much to perk her up. True, the thought of giving Jay's arm a slug mighty enough to express all the infuriation she felt was enviable. For the first time in their short acquaintance, Misty felt genuine resentment for Ash's dad, a man whose presence she normally enjoyed without any sort of reservation. Even though she was undoubtedly relieved they weren't in any real danger, she was far from amused at Jay's cruel excuse for a joke. But she knew giving in to a rather rash and silly demand for retribution wasn't going to solve anything. Feeling her eyes unwillingly sting with tears, finally too defeated to even try to unwind for the sake of his efforts, Misty simply shook her head.

His face falling resignedly, Jay withdrew his arm. He felt so bad for the poor girl and so disgusted with himself. "Oh, Misty," he exhaled, the ache for atonement intensifying, "what can I do to make it up to you?"

In spite of her enmity, Misty picked up her head, and her eyes, moister than Jay's cold and clammy socks, met waveringly with his. "Just take me home," she begged. Her voice cracked pitiably. "I want to go home. Take me. Please?"

Pausing momentarily to process the weary capitulation in her voice, Jay quickly gave her a surprised but kindly smile. "Sure. Yeah," he replied matter-of-factly. "Of course."

"Oh, c'mon, Misty!" Ash suddenly whined, shattering the quiet fragility of the moment. He rushed over as Jay was rising to his feet and holding out a helping hand to Misty. "What do you mean you want to go home?"

"Ash..." Jay warned calmly.

"I mean I want to go home," Misty reiterated firmly, not at all prepared to argue. Her speech still trembled but her reasoning was solid. "I'm done."

"Aw, don't be done!" Ash wailed, holding out his arms. "What about our campout tonight? You're just gonna leave? We were having such a good time!"

"_Ash_," Misty growled, stunned at his remark, "I was _not_ having a good time, and you know that!"

"But everything's okay now!" Determined to change her mind and not put an end to their adventurous night, Ash pursued her as she dipped back into the tent to retrieve her bag. He nearly got bowled over as she emerged a second later, none too considerately. "Everything _was_ okay! Just like I said! We were never in any danger! It was exciting! Please don't leave?"

"_No_." Misty tromped over to where Jay was awaiting her, his shoulders hunched as the chill from Totodile's water-gun was finally starting to settle in his bones.

Ash was relentless, desperate, however. "But I got such great stuff for our movie, and now that we're all awake maybe we can do another cool scene—"

It was that unfortunately-timed suggestion which ultimately made her snap. Whirling around, the savage glower Misty shot Ash practically made him reel ten feet backward. "Ash, shut up about the stupid movie!" she screamed, just about doubled-over in fury. She didn't care in the least if Jay heard her tirade about his brainchild. "I don't want to hear about it anymore, you hear me? I don't wanna do it! I _never_ wanted to do it! And especially not tonight after all that! So just shut the hell up about the goddamn thing!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jay urgently jumped between the two teens and parted them with outspread arms. He knew how readily Misty flew off the handle and wasn't about to allow any more bodily harm to take place that night. "Take it easy!" he soothed, his voice easing the wheezing girl back. "Chill. No one's filming any movies tonight, all right? It's okay."

Hasty averting or not, Misty's eruption certainly did the trick in sealing the fate of the evening. She ducked her head and turned away, her face constricting as she labored to curb her tears. Brock looked as jaded as could be. And Ash was motionless, downright dumbfounded by his girlfriend's outburst. Right then and there, Jay knew the fun was indeed over.

"In fact, I think it's probably best if we all packed up and went home."

"What?" Ash gasped, snapping out of his stupor. "Why?"

Jay sighed. "Because it's been an eventful night, that's why. You're wound up, Misty's upset, I'm soaking wet and freezing my ass off. And if I'm bringing Misty home, I might as well bring you all home. You know Mom'd make me go out and get you otherwise."

"But Dad—"

"We'll come," Brock interjected decisively, much to Ash's mounting chagrin. "We'll start getting the stuff together. Take Misty home. Ash and I'll be right behind."

"_Brock_!" Ash griped. But Brock disregarded him, setting the video camera down in a place where he could see to disassembling the tent.

"Ash, it's okay," Jay mollified tiredly, giving his son's arm a comforting shake. He understood Ash's vexation, but he was becoming a tad tetchy. Having a miserable girl to usher home, a wife to explain himself to, and striving to endure the wicked chill and numbing twinge wracking his body wasn't exactly fostering patience. "You'll be camping out again. Tonight's just not a good night anymore. Come home with your girlfriend now, okay?"

His shoulders slumping, Ash grudgingly resigned. "Fine."

Jay smirked a little. "Don't be blue; you had a good night—at _my_ expense. Help Brock pack up now—you'll get it done real quick. Maybe if you get home in time you'll get to see Mommy chew me out for the condition you put me in." He flinched playfully. "That'll be the scariest moment of the night."

"Here, you'll need this," Brock said, offering Jay one of the group's flashlights.

"Thanks, Brocko. All right, see you guys back at home. Don't get lost and have Mom send out a search party. Because that will probably be me."

With that, Jay put a hand reassuringly on Misty's shoulder and began to lead the girl back out in the direction of the street, a couple dozen yards away. Before they disappeared through the surrounding underbrush, Misty glanced over her shoulder and she and Ash exchanged an uncomfortable glance, so brief but so full of crushing emotion. Ash couldn't help but notice how heartbroken she looked, despite her outward ferocity. Misty couldn't believe how much Ash looked like he just _didn't get it_.

Underneath it all, they knew each other too well. Their suppositions were both correct.

"This sucks!" Ash barked as soon as Jay and Misty left the vicinity, giving the remains of their campfire a good kick and sending burnt kindling and ashes scattering. Pikachu and Totodile retreated a bit, startled.

"Ash, come on," Brock groaned at his friend's petulance as he rolled up the last of the sleeping bags. He had already practically cleared away half the campsite. "Don't make such a big deal out of it. Tell you the truth, I'm done, too. This was not exactly the most peaceful night ever. I'm looking forward to getting back home, where I can actually get some sleep."

"Well, I'm not. I thought this was a pretty fun night! I mean, it was scary for a while there, but now that everything's okay, it was really exciting. I don't see why we have to go home! Why can't we just spend the rest of the night out here?"

Brock didn't respond to Ash's protest for a moment as he began to collapse the tent's frame. But after struggling slightly with the supports and realizing he wasn't going to get much in the way of help from his brooding friend, he let the tent go and turned to Ash, frowning.

"Because Misty is upset," he elucidated pointedly. He knew this was going to sound stern, but Ash needed to understand what was taking place. "Don't you see that? She was practically out of her mind. That alone should make you want to quit and take her home yourself."

"But everything turned out okay!" Ash maintained.

"Yes, I know, but that _doesn't matter_," Brock emphasized. "What matters is you taking into consideration her feelings in situations like this. I could see if this was a simple conflict of interests, but it wasn't. She was terrified and unhappy about everything that went on tonight. Do you want to see her like that?"

"Of course not!" Ash seemed almost appalled at that question, which Brock was pleased to observe.

"Well, forcing her to stay out here for the rest of the night would have done that. It was obvious she wasn't going to feel better anytime soon."

Ash didn't say anything to that; his head drooped and he looked off to the side as he considered Brock's words.

"I know it's not what you want," Brock continued, a bit more evenly, "but sometimes those are the sacrifices you have to make in a relationship. You'll _both_ have to make sacrifices along the way…but tonight, I think we need to give Misty a break. She needs to go home and chill out. And I think you need to be there, too, to support her. Let her know you care."

Ash remained speechless, but it wasn't out of bitterness or contempt at being called out for his actions. He knew everything Brock was relaying to him was correct and sensible—and he knew that deep down, he knew all this stuff already—it just delivered a bit more of an impact when coming from his friend. Despite his track record with women and his unsuccessful, obtuse ways of getting their attention, Brock sure knew what he was talking about sometimes.

It was a shame he couldn't get a control of his hormonal behaviors—Brock would make a better boyfriend than him any day of the week, Ash lamented to himself.

"And I think…that maybe we should lay off the movie for a while, too," said Brock, bracing himself as he didn't want to add insult to injury in his oration to Ash. Surprisingly, Ash took a noticeably deep, disappointed breath, but didn't object, so Brock justified: "She didn't like it from the beginning and she sure as hell doesn't like it now."

"…I know…" Ash mumbled. Misty had made that quite clear. It did make him feel bad, but he realized Brock was right. Pushing it on her any more in the near future—especially that night—would be nothing short of mean.

"So…what do you say you help me pack up the rest of this stuff and we get home?" Brock asked hesitantly, praying there wasn't much more he needed to say to win over Ash's stubbornness.

It was getting more blustery and cold, feeling later and darker—or at least it seemed that way as Ash gazed at the sad, lonely remnants of their campout, disheveled and squelchy and unfriendly. Or perhaps it simply had to do with the prominent lack of someone very dear to him, her absence burrowing a hole in his heart deeper than any of the letdowns he'd experienced that eventful evening.

Without Misty, it wasn't much of an evening at all.

"…Okay," he agreed at last.

After finally recalling a tired, abnormally hushed Totodile and giving Pikachu a brief pat to assure all was okay, Ash proceeded to listlessly gather their damp belongings as Brock finished up on the tent. They worked silently. While Brock refrained out of sheer exhaustion, Ash couldn't possible talk and make sense of all the various thoughts pinballing around in his head at the same time.

He began working faster, though he wasn't sure why. Everything seemed shrouded by a massive fog of dazedness. He wanted to go home as much as he didn't. He wanted to see Misty as much as he was afraid to. It even went as far in nonsensicality as wanting to see Mom's reaction to Dad's state as much as he hoped she just slept through their arrival.

This incident, he realized, was something he'd need to contemplate long and hard for some time to come. Because at that very moment, Ash found himself totally engulfed with confusion and abashment unlike any he'd ever felt before. He was finding his personal wants and needs in an inadvertent head-to-head battle with his feelings and responsibilities toward his girlfriend, and to his dismay…Ash didn't like it. He knew what the respectable thing to do was, what the altruistic move he needed to make was—but something was holding him back. Why was it so hard when he knew in his heart that which was so right?

Ash's head began to throb.

Maybe he was just done for the night, too.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

I'm gonna say right off the bat that this probably—make that _definitely_—won't be updated in two weeks. ^_^;; Although I do have a bit more time now that the racing season is in hiatus and I don't need to spend a huge chunk of my free time decorating/shopping for Christmas (all of which I _love_, but I felt so terribly guilty about not devoting as much time to this fic as I would have liked). I do certainly hope the two-month wait was at least somewhat worth it and you enjoyed this angst-filled chapter of petrified Mistys, clueless Ashes, fed-up Brocks, and assaulted Jays. I greatly appreciate your reading, and as always, comments and construction criticism are adored! :)

Happy New Year!


	5. Once Upon a Midday Dreary

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch_ _Project_. At this point, I don't even own my own muse. It apparently owns _me_, dictating when and where writing is agreeable with it, which is evidently _not often_.

I don't even know where to begin apologizing for the delay this time around. Suffice to say, the events of this chapter didn't exactly come gushing from my brain to my fingertips. Maybe I'm just getting too old to keep up with a certain spunky young man we all know and love.

Anyway, many thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed chapter 4! You guys truly make this project worth it for me. It's a labor of love, regularly afflicted by my chronic condition of Writer's Block when I actually am granted a break from my busy (pfft) lifestyle.

This chapter is for my very good friend Aiselne Phoenix Nocturnus as a belated birthday gift. Happy Birthday, my dear! ^^ Everyone be sure to check out her hilarious new fic_ It's Her Party, and I'm In Big Trouble Again_! It's pure Pallet Town juiciness and Ash haplessness at their finest! 8D Highly recommended if you squeefully enjoy seeing our little boy suffer in sorts of ways possible.

That's why you're all here, isn't it? ;)

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 5

"Once Upon a Midday Dreary"

The first thought that passed through Ash's head the next morning was how absolutely, tremendously glad he was to be in his bed. As the steady patter of raindrops against his window gently wrenched him from slumber, he took quick note of his situation, rolled over, and tried to fall back asleep.

It didn't happen—it was obviously much later in the morning than he thought, and though he felt he could remain swathed in his blankets all day, he was officially awake. The sound of the rain was placid and hypnotizing, but was periodically disrupted by a brisk gale jarring the screens adjacent to the panes. Ash maneuvered his head toward the window and blearily took in the sight of the gray, wet world beyond. It wasn't a lovely day by any means, fortifying his gratefulness in their campout being cut short. Waking up to toasty sheets instead of an unwelcoming tent leak he'd take any day.

It was then that he recalled _why_ the campout had been aborted—and on what terms—and Ash unconsciously let out a long exhale. Just like that, the idea of staying huddled in his bed became all the more appealing. While images flashed across his mind's eye of their dark, turbulent tent and his soaked father laughing off his predicament and their brief fright, it was Misty's barefaced cast of anger and disappointment that radiated most in his memory. Ash clenched his eyes shut tighter, almost as if to dispel the vision and the sinking feeling in his gut that accompanied it.

He hadn't seen Misty since that moment; she'd retreated to her room and barricaded herself from the rest of the house before he and Brock arrived back home. At the time, Ash felt incredibly relieved. He'd had his fair share of demoralizing looks for one evening. But there was no questioning it was to be the first thing he'd have to address that morning. While he hadn't recognized the damage he was causing with his actions the previous night, he was well aware now that waiting any longer to face Misty would only result in digging his grave much deeper than it already was.

Mustering every scrap of energy he possessed, Ash sat himself up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was alone, he discovered, as he glanced down to find Brock's empty, unmade bed. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary—Brock almost always rose before him—but on this particular morning, Ash wished for once that Brock could have been there so he had someone to bounce this nervous energy off before facing his undoubtedly sore girlfriend. Not even Pikachu had waited around for him. What time was it, anyway?

Regardless of the hour, when his stomach growled Ash determined that it was breakfast time. How in the world he'd be able to eat before resolving his present conflict he didn't know.

_I guess I'd better do this and get it over with_, he told himself grudgingly, kicking off his sheets and descending from his bunk. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to make good with Misty…he just didn't want to go through the whole awkward rigmarole to achieve it. Knowing Misty too well, Ash realized he was going to have to reach into the deepest bowels of his humility to please her. It wasn't something to look forward to.

The door to his room had been left slightly ajar. Ash was puzzled as to how he slept so soundly through the morning with this being so, but as soon as he entered the hallway, he realized: the house was unusually silent. Normally there would be a steady chirping of babble down below in the kitchen, but all he could make out was the subtle drone of the shower (Brock?) and the quiet din of a game show on the living room TV. It was peaceful, but also somewhat disconcerting. Why, oh why was there nothing to sidetrack him from this adverse task at hand? It was always Ash's luck this was the way things turned out.

Or maybe not. As Ash padded by his parent's bedroom and noticed that their door, too, was open a crack, he impulsively gave in to the urge to have a peek inside. He'd done this all too often since Riley had entered the household. For a reason that had no need to be identified, the novelty of having a new member of the family had still not worn off, and he wasn't sure if or when it would. Seeing Riley fast asleep in his crib was just as exciting and just as wonderful as it had been six months prior, and on this especially dour morning, Ash knew that just a brief glimpse of his little brother would grant him the simple pick-me-up he needed.

But keeping with the apparent theme of the short day, Ash was met with quite an unfamiliar sight upon entering. It wasn't so much the fact that Riley was wide awake, engaged in an energetic effort to prop himself up from the stomach-down position his mother had placed him in, but rather the surprise of finding Delia herself sprawled on her bed, her face plastered deeply into her pillow and layers of blankets drawn messily to her shoulders. Though slightly taken aback by the scene, Ash slipped into the room and silently pushed the door to the frame, not closing it completely. It was very dusky within; the blinds were purposely closed and he was absorbed into the calm and warmth of the space, something his parents' room always emitted, even on the coldest and darkest days.

The last thing he wished to do was wake up his mother. She was normally up at this hour, futzing around and attending to the never-ending array of daily chores regardless of how wiped out she was, so the fact that she'd succumbed to her fatigue to the point of surrendering to her bed meant she had to be _really_ tired. Sympathy tugged at Ash's heartstrings as he gazed momentarily at her prone form and then at the very alert, bouncy baby that was the main cause for her collapse. It was obvious Riley was in no mood for a nap, fully demonstrating the unfair irony of motherhood, and Ash felt the inherent duty to step in. The matter was even more imperative as the restive Riley noticed Ash and began to prattle, letting out all the noise Ash was avid to restrain.

His eyes widening in both panic and amusement, Ash put a finger to his grinning lips to bid the baby hush. Of course, Riley didn't understand the gesture and only got more excited, squealing about as loudly as possible and slamming the bell-riddled toy clutched in his fist against his mattress all in one go. Ash did everything he could not to chuckle, though he was sure his mom would rouse from the innocent ruckus. Sure enough, as soon as he reached into the crib to retrieve the baby, his mother's gravelly voice rung out from across the room.

"Who's there?"

"Me, Mom," Ash answered softly, rocking Riley in his arms. The little boy instantly quieted.

"Oh." From Ash's vantage point, what was a mound of blankets haggardly repositioned. When one of Delia's arms surfaced from beneath, he noted that she'd gone back to bed with her robe still on, too tired to even take it off. His compassion deepened.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she uttered after a moment. "I was just trying to rest for a minute."

"You can," Ash said. "I'm gonna take Riley downstairs, okay? I don't think he wants to sleep right now."

Delia huffed, then spoke through a yawn. "Of course he doesn't. After keeping me up half the morning I hoped he'd at least let me lay down for a little bit."

"I'm sorry," Ash frowned. Hearing how beat she was in her dragging voice, all he wanted was to have her sleep all day. As much as he loved Riley, he couldn't fight how unhappy he often was at how much his mother's life had changed. Never before had he seen her so stressed and enfeebled, and it regularly left him discomfited and feeling powerless to alleviate it. Except this time around there _was_ something he could do. If only for a short while, he was going to look after Riley—and himself—and allow her to recharge her batteries. The choice was fortified even more as he caught her suddenly struggling to rise.

"No, Mom. I told you—sleep."

"No. Riley's up. And you want breakfast," was Delia's rebuttal.

Ash groaned, aggravated by her motherly stubbornness. "Brock can make me breakfast—_I_ can make my breakfast. Please go back to sleep, Ma. You sound awful."

"Oh, well, thank you, dear," Delia laughed sardonically. Ash flushed, but he was pleased to see that she'd lay back down, abandoning her attempt to get up. He had a feeling that even if he hadn't demanded it, she wouldn't have had the strength to succeed. It made Ash extra confident about his decision to relieve her of her needy baby—and her not-so-equally needy teenager.

"Sleep. I'll watch Riley, don't worry," he assured her again. He made his way nimbly to the door with the baby in tow.

"Okay. Thank you," his mom replied, this time sincerely. Her eyes were already shut and her head resettled into the cavernous indentation she'd hollowed into her pillow. Ash effortlessly smiled, satisfied he'd convinced her. Even an hour more of rest would do her wonders, and he was determined to make it happen. After all she did for him and his two friends in addition to her already greater burden, it was the least he could do in return.

"Good night," he joked. He heard her mumble the valediction in return as he gently closed the door. Pausing outside the room, he wrapped his free arm around Riley's back. He was glad he'd decided to venture into the bedroom. Not only did he just do his mom a huge favor, but it had brightened his spirits, as well.

Ash dipped his head back and gazed at Riley. The infant returned the look with round, doe-like eyes, and Ash's heart clutched happily. Smiling, he leaned in to give Riley's forehead a kiss.

"Let's go see what everyone's doing, Ri-Ri."

As he'd formed a smart habit of, Ash made his way circumspectly down the staircase, his eyes alertly cast down as he watched his feet take each step one by one. He didn't hold on to the banister, opting instead to keep both arms embraced securely around Riley. It was incredible how much weight the baby was putting on; it seemed like every time he picked him up, he felt a pound heavier. He had always been a little apprehensive about taking the stairs with Riley, and now that the baby far surpassed the usual weight he was used to shouldering in Pikachu, Ash knew he had to be extra heedful.

Reaching the landing, he finally stole a look to see who was parked in front of the television. His stomach tightened when he saw the messy strands of red hair sticking up over the cushions. It was then that he realized how much he'd been secretly hoping the couch potato was Brock. Which was so silly—how long did he really expect to put this encounter on hold? If anything, he knew he should be relieved that here was Misty, available and all by her lonesome, without Brock or his parents there to play audience to his embarrassing act of contrition.

It was all setting up perfectly in his favor, and yet Ash was cursing his luck rather than appreciating it. Being able to recognize that was the first signal, warning him that he needed to get his act together, and fast. Brock was often quick in the shower. Now that he was up and about, Pikachu was bound to come to him sooner than later. The window of alone-time with Misty would shut before long.

Foregoing greeting her good morning (which was probably rude on top of everything else, but he wasn't prepared to face her _that second_), he disappeared into the kitchen and unconsciously deposited Riley into his highchair. Whether thankful he was liberated from his crib or anticipating the prospect of apple sauce, the baby was euphoric, slapping his hands on his food tray. Ash smiled, almost jealously.

"At least one of us is happy today," he mumbled.

Then he grimaced. Seeing the baby looking at him expectantly, he realized there was no time to give Riley brunch—and certainly no time to clean up any mess that may result. Suddenly, accepting the antsy baby into his temporary custody wasn't working out too well for him. Cursing inwardly, Ash hastily hooked his hands under Riley's arms and lifted him out of the chair. He didn't need to add guilt for quashing the baby's anticipation of food to his tally of other worries. Riley had to go somewhere else. Where, though? Quickly scanning the vicinity, Ash's eyes lit up the second he spotted the doorway baby bouncer situated between the kitchen and dining area.

"Hey! Here you go, Riley," he whispered spiritedly. He slid his legs delicately through the harness, and Riley, knowing exactly where he was going, began to bounce before his bottom was even settled. Ash practically had to scoot away to give Riley room as the baby exploded with energy, springing on his little socked feet as if it were his purpose in life. It was adorable and Ash's heart fluttered with fondness. He regretted that he couldn't stand there to watch, but there were matters to attend to.

"All right. Knock yourself out!" _Please. For Mama's sake._

At the rate he was going, the baby would be exhausted in a matter of minutes. And even if he were to conk out before Ash was done talking to Misty, the bouncer was safe and sturdy enough for Riley to nod off in. It was perfect. What a wonderful invention.

"Be good. I'll be right back," Ash told Riley, hopes remaining high that his ceasefire with Misty wouldn't be an extremely drawn-out affair. Lovingly brushing the tips of his fingers over Riley's wispy, black tresses, Ash left the baby to his own devices and ventured out of the kitchen.

The dismal weather was definitely not making the living room any more welcoming. Even with the curtains drawn, the room was shadowy, but unlike his mother's bedroom, there was a distinctly unfriendly bite to the air. Having not put on any slippers or socks, the linoleum of the kitchen floor had frozen Ash's toes, and the rug was doing nothing to ease that chill away. Misty certainly had the right idea: she was swaddled to her chin in a big crocheted throw, looking ever much like a multicolored metapod. On any other occasion, Ash would have scrambled onto the couch and mischievously snatched the blanket right off her for himself, only to, of course, share it with her immediately after, but today didn't exactly present the proper conditions for that type of folly. Ash wanted it, though; he felt the agonizing urge to play around and be carefree with her ache in his heart. Studying her lounging on the couch, her attention directed toward the TV and not at him, even though his presence was evident, pained him to a crushingly troubled degree. And all because he'd idiotically let his enthusiasm over a crappy home movie override his commitment to keep her happy. What the hell had been wrong with him last night?

Whatever it was, Ash was determined to correct it. How he was going to do this, though, was the issue. Managing a disgruntled Misty was a thorny situation. If there was one thing he could always rely on, it was that she was a cornucopia of varied reactions. You never quite knew what you were going to get when faced with the daunting task of dealing with her unpredictable nature. This engagement could result in an ardent kiss on the lips, a painful wallop in the jaw, or any of the other colorful possibilities in-between. If anything, Ash could never say his introduction to romance was a lackluster one.

But time was ticking by, denying him the luxury of considering his approach from various angles and outcomes. Ash had to make a decision on how to initiate, otherwise something (_Riley, Riley—can't forget about him…_) was sure to intervene and force Ash to spend the rest of this rainy, deplorable day indoors with a problem that would no doubt snowball into something much harder to mend. Should he be wary or casual? Which would Misty react better to? God, he didn't have the time to think this through!

As it forever seemed to be, Ash's decision-making had to come by way of impulsiveness. Throwing caution to the wind, he swallowed the huge lump in this throat, balled his fists, and jumped right into the fray.

Literally, that is. Without another second of ponderous hesitation, Ash skipped to the couch in two huge strides, vaulted himself spryly over the armrest, and plopped onto the other end of the couch so heavily that the metal springs dug through the cushions into his ankles. Roosting hastily, he forced a slapdash smile and looked keenly in Misty's direction. If at all she had been bothered by his exaggerated entrance, she didn't show it; her eyes never left the television—in fact, her face barely twitched.

Ash did everything he could to preserve the smile. _Oh, crap_, he thought. Even if he'd gotten a scoff or a dirty look at his gambol, it would have definitely been more encouraging than no reaction at all.

If there was one thing Ash hated more than _anything_, it was the silent treatment. And being so, he continued immediately.

"Hi," he blurted.

Ash honestly didn't know what he'd expected in return, but it certainly wasn't the instant reply of "hello" that he _did_ get. He knew his eyes had widened at the unexpected response but rapidly blinked away the surprise.

"Uhh, what're you watching?"

"Nothing." It wasn't a lie or a brush-off. She was scrolling aimlessly through the channels with a remote that was half-covered by her pajama top, looking as if it were an extension of her arm. Images of talk-shows and sitcom reruns flashed transiently across the screen, which Ash was barely paying attention to. Her face, exuding of boredom, was a more interesting study. Yet again, how perfect this situation was granting itself for Ash's atonement was unbelievable. No way would he be able to get through to her if she were immersed in a program. It was almost as if she had been sitting here just to idly pass the time awaiting his arrival.

However, this unnerved Ash. He didn't know what to say next. He had to be the one to speak, though; she was showing no sign of keeping the offhand dialogue rolling. He glanced momentarily at the patio doors, sidetracked by the trails of rain creeping down the glass, and deliberated. There was so many ways he could start this, butter up and ease into the dreaded bottom line. Reasons and excuses for his behavior cultivated in his brain. His heart wavered between admitted foolishness and obdurate self-defense.

_But…how is it that I really feel? _Ash found himself asking.

Misty finally settled noncommittally on a cooking show and Ash settled on his next line.

"I'm sorry." His breath caught in his throat. Dammit. _Dammit_! Immediately, he regretted the simplicity of his apology. Was it really smart and safe to pass over a sugar-coated prologue? Did he really sound extra pathetic and desperate for skipping right to the chase? Worst of all, was he now obliged to _follow it up_ with something…?

Not too long after he uttered the words he wanted to retract rather badly, Misty rolled her head on the cushion to face him. Ash braced himself as their eyes locked, but to his surprise, her expression showed nothing but…acceptance. Even more shocking, her teeth glimmered behind the hint of a half-smile.

"It's okay."

She said it so quietly, so effortlessly, so…_reassuringly_ that Ash just gaped at her. The mix of pertinent embellishments that was dancing on his tongue was swallowed back as he tried to figure out how to approach this new development he was broadsided with.

Misty was okay with it? She was _okay_ with it? Since _when_? Certainly not last night! He was evidently faltering too long because Misty followed up with a sigh and a tiny, one-shouldered shrug.

"I'm sorry, too."

Incredulity bowling him over, his eyes rounded like dinner plates at her second astonishing utterance. "_Huh_?" he blurted out. "You are? F-for _what_?"

Biting her lip a bit guiltily, Misty replied, "For ruining your night last night."

"But…but…" Ash sputtered, totally and completely baffled by this unforeseen turn of events. If given the time, he might have made preparations for dozens of scenarios relating to this conversation, but he still would've been caught off guard because _this_ would _not_ have been among them. "You didn't ruin my night, Misty."

It was all he could really say to that. Because it was true…wasn't it? Wasn't he the one who had screwed everything up? Wasn't he the one who had made all the stupid decisions and remarks and disregarded her feelings and their safety and couldn't focus his mind sensibly? Wasn't she the one who suffered most because of all his dimwitted actions?

"Yes, I did," she persisted. Exhaling deeply, she shifted her whole body around to face him but still remained nestled beneath the throw. "I was totally out of line last night. All I did was act stupid and childish. Made a scene. Overreacted. I was afraid of something that wasn't even _real_, Ash."

Ash looked bemused. "Uh, ursaring are real. We didn't know—"

"That's not what I mean; I'm not talking about the ursaring," Misty groaned, rolling her eyes lightly. "I mean…the—the scary stuff. The _witches_. The stuff that's _really_ not real, the stuff that really kept me up all night in the tent, even before I heard the noises. What made me complain about _everything_ that happened. To you, to Brock, to your dad…"

Ash's brow furrowed. Okay, so he knew she had still been uneasy when he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to camp out. But again, shouldn't that have also been added to his list of insensitive gaffes? Shouldn't he have waited a night or two with the awareness of her apprehension? This was all starting to get too confounding. He honestly didn't understand how or why this conversation had turned completely around. What was he missing here?

"Misty, it's okay…"

"No, it's not," she interjected forcefully. "It was ridiculous." She shook her head and looked down, feeling quite foolish for her absurd fears and actions. He noticed her recoil and draw herself in beneath the makeshift shield of her blanket. "And I let that get to me and it ruined whatever fun we could have had last night."

As thrown off as he was, Ash slumped at her self-denigration. He hated to hear her speak this way. She was demanding his censure for her reactions to something _he_ had ignorantly instigated. He was supposed to be the one apologizing, feeling sorry for himself, condemning his actions and reasoning—not her! It just wasn't right!

"Misty, stop," he managed. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. We were all scared—we _all_ thought there was something out there! That wasn't just you!"

"I know. But _my_ fear was over something stupid. Before we thought it was the ursaring, all I kept thinking about was that movie, and that _stupid_ witch, and _that's_ what I was afraid of. After your dad showed up and we found out we were okay I should have just gotten over it. But I didn't. Instead I just made a damn scene and ended the whole night on a sour note!" Breathless, she ducked her head miserably. "I was such a bitch."

It was that comment that ultimately broke Ash. "No you weren't!" he averred fervently. "That was the last thing you were." _And _ever_ are._ "You don't have to be sorry for what happened last night. _I_ do. If _any_one ended the night on a sour note, it was me. I should have never, ever suggested we film our movie after all that happened! That was _me_ being stupid."

She paused, refusing to meet his solemn gaze, instead throwing a brief, diverted glimpse at the TV. It felt good that he was able to get that word in, to finally spill what had been eating at him all morning, and now that she was silent and apparently considering his words, he felt fulfilled that he'd spun this out-of-the-blue apology volley around the other way, the _correct_ way.

After a dense spell of stillness, Misty turned back to him and—as if all her other mood swings hadn't been so unforeseen—gave him a crooked grin. "Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Pokémon Master," she stated rather calmly, "I'll be sorry for whatever I want to be sorry about." Her grin grew subtly. "But thank you for acknowledging you were being stupid last night. 'Cause you were."

Ahhhh, there was his Misty. Ash huffed lightly but couldn't contain the grin that swept to his own lips. Of course she was still going to get her digs in—it was only a matter of time. He should have known.

Ever so affably, he conceded, "Yeah, I guess I was."

"Well, I forgive you."

"Yeah? You do…?" Ash's tone held a bit of hopeful hesitation.

"Sure." There was such an easygoing air about her, one that just seemed too conveniently offsetting for the temperament she'd been giving off moments ago. It was then that Ash figured that perhaps Misty was just as relieved. It kind of made sense now. She must have been nervous about this meeting, too, only she'd needed to tackle the challenge of delivering an apology in the face of receiving an obligatory one from him. Her tactic had probably been just as ad lib as his.

Except she'd known _exactly_ what she'd been doing when she used that passing unresponsiveness of hers moments ago to draw the apology out of him first. Clever, Misty, very clever. Ash smirked to himself. He really could never get over this girl and how easily she knew how to play him.

"Wow, Misty," he marveled, contented despite his awe of her craftiness. He let out a shaky giggle. "Th-thanks. You know, I…thought you were going to be really mad at me."

"Oh, I was," she exclaimed matter-of-factly, her voice rising with unexpected fierceness. Ash's neck instantly sank into his shoulders as his face flushed an abashed, rosy pink. "Trust me, Ash, I _was_ mad at you. Last night? Every time I saw that camera in your hands or you said something about that freaking movie, my blood just boiled. Seriously, if your dad wasn't there, I probably would've punched your lights out."

Ash snorted humorously. "Oh sure, but when my dad offered for you to do that to him, you wouldn't do it!"

Misty coughed a laugh. "Yeah, like I was really going to punch your dad. C'mon, Ash."

"He was serious, you know."

"Even so, I still wasn't going to do it!"

"Okay, but you're more than willing to beat me to a pulp when you see fit?"

Grinning brazenly, Misty nodded. "Of course."

"…You still want to punch me now?"

"I always have a reason for wanting to punch you," she teased, her nose wrinkling playfully. "But yeah, sticking that camera right up in my face even after I was so clearly terrified and wanted _no_ part of anything to do with the Blair Witch? Yeah, I still kinda want to punch you over that."

Even though it was in jest, Ash still rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, about that…"

"Look, it's okay," Misty assured him quickly. "You were getting into it because of your dad. I know. You wanted to do it because he was making a big deal out of it. You wanted to make him happy."

"Well, that was only part of it," Ash acknowledged. "I was enjoying planning it out and filming it, too. It was something fun to do."

"Oh, yes, tons of fun," Misty grunted sarcastically.

"But see, that's just it," Ash's smile faded a bit. "I—I knew how much you hated it when we were filming it. And you're right—I kept going, even with all the complainin' you did. I—I didn't know when to stop. And wanting to keep it up after Dad scared us—that was the worst."

"It was," she agreed overtly, and though her affirmation of his ignorance stung, Ash was glad she was being so open-faced with him. It made him feel so _close_ to her, and that sensation alone overrode any indignity.

"I guess…I thought you'd warm up to it eventually."

"Ash." She shot him a firm yet nontoxic glare. "I will _never_ warm up to the thought of being hunted down by a witch while being out on our journey. _Ever_."

Noted, but Ash however took advantage of her buoyant manner. "If it makes you feel any better, I was planning on having you survive."

"Oh, were you?" she chuckled, pleasantly surprised and doubtful all at once. "Even though the real movie left no survivors?"

"Well, you know what Brock said," shrugged Ash. "No reason we had to copy it exact. Besides." His grin grew impishly and he gave her shoulder a nudge. "The witch wouldn't have stood a chance against you."

Giving him a suspicious side-long glance, Misty decided to give his jousting a pass this time around. "I…think I'm gonna take that as a compliment, for _both_ our sakes."

Ash smiled knowingly, but the jollity of the last exchange sobered off shortly thereafter. "In any case…" he said, taking an audible breath, "you're not gonna have to worry about the movie anymore, Misty." Here it was—the crux of the moment that he equally bemoaned and was eager to deliver. Considering everything that taken place, it was a decision he knew was unavoidable. "I think we should probably scrap the whole thing."

To his surprise, Misty's expression actually looked startled and sad, perhaps even a bit culpable. "Aww, Ash…no. A-are you sure? I didn't mean for you to give it up completely! I mean, I still don't wanna be in it, but that doesn't mean you or Brock can't—"

"Misty, no," Ash interrupted her. He knew she was feeling bad simply for his sake, which was sweet, but he knew deep down in her mind she was probably doing triumphant cartwheels and flinging confetti at the thought of the project's potential demise. "It's okay—really. It wasn't going that well, anyway," he admitted. "I don't think we're cut out to be actors. I'd rather stick to pokémon training for the time being. Something I know how to actually do."

"Oh. But…your dad's gonna be disappointed…"

"He'll get over it," Ash replied nonchalantly. "He just wanted to give us something to do to pass the time. I don't think he cared about it _that_ much."

"You sure about that?" she narrowed her eyes. "Looked like he was having more fun with it than you were."

"Yeah, you're right," he laughed, recalling the underhanded mischief his father had gleefully partaken in to "enhance" their project. "Since he doesn't have an excuse to scare the living daylights out of us anymore, maybe he _won't_ get over it as easy as I thought."

"You think ending the project is really going to stop him?" Misty mumbled doubtfully.

"Uh, maybe not," Ash cringed through a grin. He was most likely going to have to watch his back until they departed after Halloween. Especially if and when Jay found out the movie was kaput, who knew what he sort of iniquitous ideas he'd devise to make up for his letdown?

"Well, all I know is _I_ won't have any trouble getting over this!" Misty said brightly. Letting the throw fall from where it had hung precariously off her shoulders, she slung her arms into the air with contained delight. "I'm _definitely_ going to enjoy being free of that stupid video camera today!"

_And I'm going to enjoy seeing you enjoy it_, Ash thought fondly, recalling the past days of Misty's perpetual grumpy scowl. It looked as though the sun was going to come out after all—maybe not in the unpromising, blackened sky, but in Misty's disposition, and Ash realized that was all he really needed.

"So since I had two days of you dictating our activities, do I get to choose what we do today?"

"Uh, sure," Ash replied. "But…what are we gonna do? Look at it outside."

Misty tapped her chin. "Oh, I dunno. Watch a movie _I_ like, maybe?"

Ash rolled his eyes. "Ugh, sure. Only if you promise not to want to remake whatever it is into our own movie. Because, you know, I'm allowed to do that, you aren't."

"Ha! Could you honestly imagine if I made you act out one of my favorite movies?"

Pondering it for a moment and then realizing exactly the types of movies Misty was drawn to, Ash flashed a look of amusement and horror. "Yeah, I could, and my mother would never let me see you again."

Seeing her go red and throw back her head in laughter was complete and utter bliss for Ash. Suddenly, everything became obsolete—the events from the night before, the frightful weather pounding the house, the nauseas feeling he'd battled since getting up, the minor downer that their botched little film was going to wind up on the cutting room floor. All that mattered now was that Misty was happy, all was forgiven, and most importantly, he could go back to doing just this—having a splendid, jovial time with his girlfriend, free of any drama and awkwardness and ill feelings.

Ash's stomach growled loudly in protest. Oh yes, and now he could attend to his hunger, as well.

"Ewww, gross," Misty scowled.

"I'm a little hungry," Ash blushed.

"Well, please eat something before your stomach winds up eating itself," she said, commencing to flip through the channels again. Ash was grateful; the images of the bacon cheese frittatas sizzling on the grill had been a tad torturous. Just a tad.

"You ate?"

"Of course. My appetite can't wait for you to rise from the dead."

Ash chuckled and stood, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. Sweeping his eyes around the room, he noted with amazement that they were still alone. After all the legitimate worries that he was working with a limited timeframe, he would have certainly expected someone to interrupt their conversation by this point. Brock had still not emerged from the bathroom down the hall (geez, was he meeting a girl today or something?), Riley hadn't said boo—

_Riley_. Ash hurriedly dipped into the dining room to check to see what the baby was up to. To his relief, Riley was fine—he had tired himself out like Ash had anticipated he would, and was now lazing contentedly in the swing, struggling to keep his eyelids open. Ash beamed rather smugly. Guess he was the one who had the magic touch with Riley this morning.

Carefully lifting the baby from the swing and praying he wouldn't start crying (he didn't), Ash then realized he still hadn't seen Pikachu, either. Another quick scan of the vicinities revealed the mouse to be nowhere in sight. It wasn't completely out of the ordinary, especially for a miserable day like today. Part of Ash still longed to be in bed; he was sure that was where Pikachu had to be, nestled away somewhere snug and warm and secluded. Still, it was a little odd that, considering how late it was, Ash still hadn't been greeted by him. Seemed hardly a morning passed without a close-call trip-up incident somewhere in the house by this time.

"Have you seen Pikachu?" Ash asked Misty as he strolled back into the living room.

Misty shook her head but never turned from the TV. "Uh-uh. I thought he was upstairs being a lazy-ass like you."

"Very funny," he slouched. "No, he wasn't."

"I dunno then. Is he in your mom's room? She's sleeping, right?"

"Yeah, but I was just in there. I would seen him if he was." Ash continued to peer inquisitively into all areas of the ground floor, but there were no round, bright eyes peeping back at him.

"Where's Togepi?"

"Upstairs in my room sleeping."

Ash started for the stairs, but finding himself burdened by the weight of the snoozing baby and knowing that carting the little boy all over the house would only rile him up again, he u-turned and handed Riley unannounced to Misty over her shoulder.

"_Ash_," Misty tsked, but received Riley nonetheless.

"Just a second; I want to see if Pikachu's with Togepi."

Sans Riley, Ash was able to take to the stairs more briskly. He was eager to find Pikachu, only out of curiosity as to where the pokémon was hiding. He wanted to make sure he was okay, fed—simply take comfort in knowing where he was so he could go about his day. Considering he was in nearly every room of the house that morning except for Misty's, that had to be where Pikachu was. Unless for some reason he'd been hanging out with Brock in the bathroom…

Okay, that was just too weird to possibly be the case.

Reminding himself of his sleeping mother, he crept stealthily across the hall to Misty's room. Her door was slightly ajar, and Ash nudged it open to poke his head into the dark room.

"Pikachu?" he whispered.

"_Prrri_?" From the center of a heap of blankets and sheets Togepi's spiky head abruptly surfaced, startled by Ash's intrusion, gentle as it was. The little pokémon looked blearily at Ash, and Ash instantly felt bad for interrupting his nap. But what troubled him even more was that Pikachu was not there. Togepi had been taking his mid-morning siesta alone.

"Sorry, Togepi," he winced, hoping the pokémon wouldn't start babbling in complaint. There were too many fussy babies in this house. "Go back to sleep."

How many times was he going to tell people and pokémon that today? At this point, Ash was the one who wanted to retreat back to his bed. He couldn't even begin to entertain the thought of taking a nap, though, until he found Pikachu. This was getting a little peculiar now. Where in the world was he?

Slithering out of Misty's room and returning the door to its previous position, Ash decided to check his room once more. Though his search was fresh, he already felt like he was going in circles. Again, no Pikachu. Ash frowned, bewildered but not entirely surprised. If Pikachu had stolen into the room after Ash had gotten up, he would have at least said hello to Ash in the interim. Pikachu was a pretty incisive pokémon, but even he wouldn't have caught on that Ash desired alone time with Misty unless Ash bid him away for the moment.

"Ugh, Pikachu. Where the hell are you?" he muttered under his breath.

Realizing it was pointless to try his mom's room again, as there was no way Pikachu could have gotten in there with the door closed and her virtually comatose, he wasted no time in making his way back downstairs.

"He's not upstairs," he announced.

"Who's not upstairs? Me?" Ash was met by Brock at the base of the stairs, who flashed him a whimsical smile. "Of course I'm not, I'm right here."

"I'm talking about Pikachu," Ash retorted, too hassled for his friend's humor. He skimmed past Brock determinedly, only to spin around to face him right after. "Have you seen him?"

"Uh, negative," Brock shook his head. "Thought he was upstairs with you."

"Yeah, that's what everyone thinks, but everyone's wrong," Ash snapped. Brock's eyes widened at the testiness in his younger friend's tone.

"Ash, calm down," Misty said, twisting her head over her shoulder. She was delicately cradling a dozing Riley in her arms. "You know he's somewhere around here."

"Doesn't look that way at the moment, Misty," Ash grumbled. "Pikachu!" he finally called out, though still respectably keeping his voice rather subdued. "Pikachu, where are you?"

"Maybe he's outside," Misty broached.

Ash's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her suggestion. "Outside? In that?" He gestured disbelievingly toward the rain-beaten patio doors.

"I don't know, maybe..." Misty shrunk away slightly at the outburst. "If he's not in here…"

"Aww, man!" Ash exclaimed, marching to the door purposefully. With the rain, he hadn't even considered the notion of Pikachu being outside. Just the thought of poor Pikachu being left out in that made his stomach lurch. Pikachu hated rain, oftentimes practically clambering down his shirt when they travelled in inclement weather. It was weird that Pikachu wasn't calling out or clawing at the door, but then again, Ash had been a bit preoccupied that morning. It wouldn't surprise him if he hadn't heard Pikachu, but it also wouldn't erase any guilt he'd feel if that were the case.

While not exactly expecting a lovely scene, Ash had not anticipated a blast to the face of fierce, arctic air upon opening the door. It appeared that a wicked cold front had piggybacked the tempest. Ash nearly staggered back, floored at how cold it had gotten. For just a few days shy of Halloween, it was extremely unfitting for the season. It was _nowhere_ near this uncomfortable the night before in the tent. Goosebumps erupted all over his body through his thin pajamas.

Alas, though, there was no impatient, aggrieved Pikachu itching at the door. Ash quickly tried to scan the periphery of his front yard, but the conditions were not making it an agreeable task. The steady, freezing drizzle whipped at his face and the giant ice block of a front stoop chilled the bottoms of his bare feet when he attempted to step out. On impulse, he leapt back into the house.

"Pikachu?" he shouted, holding on to both sides of the door frame and leaning out into the harsh world. "Pikachu, are you out here? Come inside, buddy!"

No chirps. No yellow blur shooting through his legs. No reprimanding shock of embittered disapproval for being so callously forgotten. Nothing—no Pikachu. Just the rain, the murky mist, and the glossy pumpkins sitting serenely on the stoop.

Ash's heart began to pump faster. This was not good, not good at all.

"Ash, close the door! You're getting Riley cold!"

Upon Misty's grouse, Ash shut the door, then promptly proceeded to the backdoor in the kitchen. Even though Pikachu should have easily heard him calling from any corner of the yard and come scampering around the side of the house, Ash wasn't about to simply rely on that logic. There were plenty of places in the back where Pikachu could be seeking haven from the rain—perhaps he was just waiting restlessly for Ash to open the door closer to his temporary shelter.

But this was not the case, either. With his head sticking out the door, water beading on every strand of his unkempt hair, Ash's calls continued to go unheeded. Frustrated, he finally defied the unpleasantness of venturing outside and stepped out onto his back stoop for a better view of the land surrounding his house.

"PIKACHU!" he cried out at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Pikachu, are you out here?"

His voice echoed faintly off the distant mountains, but yielding no response, it was nothing but a hollow taunt. Eyes darting all over and puffs of steam blasting fiercely from his mouth into the raw air, Ash felt himself beginning to panic. Pikachu wasn't responding to him in the house. Pikachu wasn't responding to him outside the house. _Where the hell was Pikachu?_

"He's not out here?" Brock appeared behind him.

"No," Ash answered shortly, almost knocking his friend over as he hastened back into the house.

"How about the basement—did you check there?" Brock trailed him.

Ash's heart skipped excitedly, but his hopefulness was brief when he found the door to the basement slightly open. No way would Pikachu have not been able to hear him if he were down there, nor did he speculate he was flat-out ignoring him. But he wasn't going to leave any assumption as just that. He flipped the light on and descended the stairs. The basement was warmer than it was outside, but it was still dark, dank, and uninviting, and predictably, Pikachu was not present.

"Ash, he's _got_ to be in Mom's room," Misty insisted when he stamped back upstairs. "You looked everywhere else!"

Ash was already thinking the same thing before she said it. It didn't make sense, but it was his last prospect. While it pained him to disturb his mother's rest, he knew he was inevitably going to go up there and check. She'd just have to catch up on sleep later; she'd understand.

Still, he approached her room gingerly and opened the doorknob much the same, thinking that maybe he could sneak a peek inside the room without awakening her. Normally, he would have tagged this effort as utterly futile, as Delia never slept through anything that entailed her child creeping around (tried, failed too many times). But she was just exhausted enough this morning for him to have a chance of pulling this off. Besides, his noble intentions were on his side this time—he wanted her to remain asleep for her own good, not his.

Nevertheless, he barely had one foot hovering over the threshold before Delia's hoarse voice sliced through the quiet.

"Ash?"

Cringing, Ash impulsively ducked behind the door, removing himself from the calm isolation of her space, but then remembering why he was there, revealing himself again. "Yeah."

"What is it?" God, did she sound debilitated, only serving to accentuate Ash's regret over entering the room. "You have Riley?"

"No, Mama, he's downstairs with Misty."

"What's the matter?" She turned over in bed, and to Ash, it looked like quite the laborious effort. She must have heard the reserve in his voice, the lack of complacency, the tip-off that something _wasn't right_.

"Nothing. Well—no. I mean—is Pikachu in here?"

He knew the answer to that question even before it slipped through his lips. Whenever Pikachu slept in his parents' room, he was always at the end of the bed. There was nothing there now except a crumpled-up quilt.

"No."

"Have you seen him today?"

She paused to think, kneading her fingers across her swollen eyes. "Umm... Yeah."

Ash immediately perked. "You have? When?"

"This morning." She glanced up at him through one squinted eye. "I let him out."

"Out?" Ash repeated, his stomach dropping as his optimism was brusquely curtailed with one declaration. "Y-you mean outside? When did you let him outside?"

"Early," Delia frowned. "Very early…I was up with Riley…"

"Did you let him back in?"

"…No, I don't think so…no…"

Ash's heart began to race faster. "Was Dad still here? Did he let him back in, you think?"

"No, it was after he left." She was starting to pick up on his distress, giving him a troubled but befuddled look as she lifted herself up on her elbows. "Why, Pikachu's not in the house?"

"No," Ash nearly whimpered. "I've looked all over and called outside, but he isn't answering!"

"Maybe Misty or Brock let him in."

"No! No, they haven't seen him, either. Mom, are you _sure_ you didn't let him back in?"

"Ash, I…" she groaned, swiping at her face again. "Honey, I—I don't remember. I was so tired…"

_Don't remember._ That was the last thing Ash wanted to hear. He was dealing with enough uncertainty as it was. The questions that _should_ have viable answers he needed, desperately. She was tired, sure, but how could she not remember? It was such a simple process! Open door, let Pikachu out; open door, let Pikachu in. Did it really require that much cognition? For Ash, it was becoming more and more obvious that she didn't know simply because it _hadn't_ happened. The final synopsis of this incident was shaping dismally in his head.

Mom let Pikachu out, but never let him in. Dad was at work, gone. Misty and Brock hadn't let him in. He definitely hadn't. The alarming truth of the matter was, Pikachu was still outside, had been for _hours_, and he wasn't coming in.

His breathing rapidly increased, burning painfully in his lungs. He couldn't wait this out any longer. It was just too out of character for Pikachu. "I gotta go out and look for Pikachu," he declared shakily. "Something's happened to him."

Hearing the heightened strain in his tone, Delia pushed the covers aside and drew her legs out of bed. "Ash, wait—are you sure he's not just—"

"No!" Ash shook his head forcefully, backing out of the room. "No—he'd come in by now! He wouldn't want to be outside in this! Something's wrong, I just know it! I gotta get out there!"

With that, he bolted out of the room, turning his back on his mother and her calls for him to wait. He didn't have time to argue or explain why he needed to get out there. If Pikachu wasn't in the yard, then he was somewhere else…wandered off, sought refuge, took cover. And if he hadn't…well, Ash wasn't about to consider any possibilities other than that. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

"Not up there, either?" Brock assumed as Ash came barreling noisily down the stairs. One look at his friend's expression answered that question rather firmly.

"I have to go out and look for him," Ash said, yanking the closet door open and hysterically tearing through the jumble of coats and jackets stuffed within.

"Uh, aren't you going to get dressed first?" Brock asked.

Ash ignored him, gritting his teeth in frustration as his trembling hands couldn't seem to locate his raincoat. After going back and forth through the varied collection of outwear a couple times unsuccessfully, his fingers finally graced along the familiar feel of smooth, waterproof material. Without another second of indecision, he ripped the raincoat from its hanger and swung it around his frame in one motion, not paying much attention to the fact that his arms slipped way too easily through the large sleeves and his hands barely came out the other end.

"Ash." Delia suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase as Ash slammed the closet door shut. She looked worse as he'd ever seen her, slumped and frail yet still exhibiting that ever-distinctive look of misgiving when she knew he was acting impetuous. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he answered succinctly.

"It's terrible out there."

"I don't care."

"Please just wait," she implored weakly.

Waiting was _absolutely_ the last thing Ash wanted to do. Pikachu had waited long enough as it was. Trying his best to brush off her concern, Ash looked around him for his sneakers, but they were nowhere to be found. All that was lying by the door were his slippers. Ash offhandedly recalled that he'd worn his sneakers to his room after coming back from the called-off campout, which he wasn't supposed to do but damned if he'd cared. Now he was cursing the choice, because there was no way in hell he was going to go up the stairs and past his mother to retrieve them. Worn out or not, she had a way of latching onto his arm with a grip the Jaws of Life couldn't remove. If she didn't want him going out into this weather, then it wasn't happening.

A ferocious gust of wind pummeled the house, the groans of the rafters reverberating in return. The room went silent at the ominous sound, and daringly, Ash stole a glimpse at his mother's face. The look of utter anguish and plea she was giving him at the moment warred with his otherwise undaunted resolve. He didn't want to go out into this monsoon, either, but there was just no way he could tolerate sitting around and waiting for Pikachu to brave it all and make a break for the front door.

Misty and Brock were staring at him expectantly, acquiescing to the silent confrontation occurring between mother and son and wisely keeping their mouths shut. Ash knew they'd support him, though. He'd done far worse then run out into a rainstorm when it came to Pikachu. This was nothing. It _would_ be nothing. What harm was a little drenching gonna do? Once he found Pikachu and got the poor guy out from his hiding place and into his warm arms, they'd laugh this all off and go about deciding on some sort of monotonous activity to get them through this cold and dreary day.

Just having that promising scenario pass through his mind made Ash's limbs itch with anticipation and drive. How they could expect him to do anything other than what he was about to do now boggled his mind.

His eyes set on Delia inflexibly. "I'll be back," he said.

Delia started down the stairs. "Ash, _please_—"

Her sudden advance only led Ash's rashness to switch into overdrive. His eyes settling crucially on his slippers, he sprung into action, having no other choice but to drive his feet into them and wrench the front door open in one go. Ash sprang out into the yard, his mother and friends' fraught calls mingling with the loud splatter of his feet's impact against the soggy ground. A second later, their voices were more emphatically surpassed by his shouts for Pikachu.

Shouts that, again, were answered only by the rain and wind.

* * *

Professor Samuel Oak had seen a lot of interesting things in his busy and illustrious life.

He'd also met his fair share of unique people. In his line of work, he had the pleasure of dealing first-hand with dozens of children every year, all embodying diverse shades of personality and levels of enthusiasm. Some warmed his old heart and bolstered his love for what he did; others made him want to pack it all up and retire to the Seafoam Islands without looking back.

Ash Ketchum was in a league of his own.

The morning the passionate little boy showed up at his doorstep, frantic, terrified, and _so_ not ready to depart for his journey, desperately seeking affirmation that he wasn't too late and his entire dream hadn't been annulled by his own idiocy, Professor Oak thought he'd seen it all. Indeed, many children arrived to collect their first pokémon in clothes he didn't deem completely appropriate (the girls especially), but pajamas? That was _definitely _a first.

He hadn't seen anything as peculiar since…until this very morning.

Hastened to the front door by nonstop door-bell rings and impatient pounding that had interrupted his morning coffee, he was afraid of what he was going to encounter. All he could automatically think was _bad news_. Someone that desperate to get his attention could only be bearing such. But what was it? Was one of his grandchildren hurt? Did one of the pokémon escape from the fields? Was his house on fire?

He barely had the door open halfway when he was suddenly bombarded with: "Have you seen Pikachu?"

"Wh-what? _Ash_?"

The young man had come a long way in three years; he had to give him that. But there were bound to be things that would never change. In times of stress (which he could tell this was right away, as evidenced by his pallid, rain-slicked face), Ash just didn't know how to dress himself properly.

In brief, he was a disheveled mess. While he had at least thought to grab a raincoat on this wretched day, it was obviously not his: the garment was tremendous, swallowing his shoulders whole and falling practically at his knees. Professor Oak could only assume it was Jay's. The hood itself was so large it had fallen away—if Ash had even attempted to put it on to begin with—and now, for a kid who was rarely seen hatless, his hair was dripping wet and plastered flat against his face. Samuel nearly shivered out of sympathy the second he saw him. And this was before he even noticed the pajama pants and…_slippers_?

What on earth was _with_ this child?

"Is Pikachu here?" Ash demanded again.

"I—I don't know," Samuel sputtered quickly, flummoxed. "I don't think so, no… Why, what happened?"

"He's missing," Ash whimpered, and the grave look of fret and despair on his face stole the professor's attention away from his attire and got his heart racing. "I can't find him. He went outside and now he isn't coming in, he won't answer when I call him. I'm getting so worried. I don't know why he won't come inside, this isn't like him and he—"

"H-hey now, calm down," Samuel interrupted quickly, using the most soothing tone he could manage in the sudden hysteria Ash's appearance had generated. Despite his obvious concern over this revelation, it was getting Ash out of the pouring rain that was his most pressing action of interest. This was _not_ a day to brave the outside world, that was for certain. He stepped aside to offer the entryway. "He's somewhere, we'll find him. Wh-why don't you come in out of the rain, you're soaking wet—"

"Do you think he might have come here?" Ash rambled on, swiping his wet bangs away from his eyes. "He's nowhere around my house, I went 'round the whole way and checked and—and when he wasn't there I thought that maybe he'd be here…"

"Ash, Ash…I don't know if he's here. I haven't been outside. But he may have, and if he did I'm sure we'll find him."

"He has to be! I need to find him! It's so cold out here and it's raining so bad—"

"Yes it is, which is why I wish you'd—"

"Why would Pikachu want to be out in this? Professor Oak, this isn't like him! I'm so afraid something's happened to him!"

He was wheezing, nearly hyperventilating, and Samuel's heart clutched. He hated to see Ash so worked-up, so distraught, and on top of it all, at the mercy of these dreadful elements. His own fingers were already chilled from just standing in the doorway; he could only imagine how cold Ash was. Try as he might to center his mind on Ash's dilemma and provide him the guidance he was seeking, the parent in him—as well the sizeable part of him that had grown so terribly attached to this plucky young boy—could not bear to see Ash being so cruelly hammered by these conditions one moment longer. He needed to get him inside so he could calm down for a second, clear his scrambled brain, consider what to do next in order to find Pikachu, and most of all, get a towel on that kid's head and something warm and dry wrapped around those feet.

But why did he just _know_ that that was going to be a challenge? Perhaps because he knew this boy just as well as he knew his own grandson in some regards? Getting through to Ash when the kid was levelheaded was often tough enough; how was he going to steer Ash's mind away from his most precious companion for a minute in order to get him to focus on his own welfare? For once, Professor Oak wished Ash wasn't so damn selfless when it came to his pokémon. Because if ever selflessness epitomized recklessness, Ash was the adulated poster boy.

He braced himself, preparing to find his authoritative tongue.

"ASSSH!"

Oh. Then again, maybe he wouldn't be alone in that battle.

Ash spun on his heels as his mother's surprise holler resonated from the base of Samuel's long, snaking front path. Neither had seen nor heard her car pull up, but now through the foggy haze they both watched as Delia jogged toward the house as fast as her feet could carry her, taking the steps of the walk rather agilely and with a particular resolve that Professor Oak could easily identify right away.

"Oh, no," Ash groaned dramatically.

Oh, yes, this was turning into quite the interesting morning indeed.

It didn't take but a second for Samuel to put all these chaotic pieces together. In the mayhem of the moment, he hadn't even had time to consider how in the world Delia had let Ash leave the house in that bizarrely unsuitable wardrobe. Well, there was the answer to that question: she hadn't.

No way in the world, given Ash's appearance and mental state, could this have normally gone past Delia unnoticed. He could only wonder what took her so long—it had to have at least taken Ash a good seven or eight minutes to get to his house at a full run. In hindsight, he should have expected Delia to show up any minute. What he _didn't_ expect, though, was Ash suddenly taking off without another word, leaving an allegorical cloud of dust and a stunned Professor Oak in his wake.

"H-hey, wait a minute now!" Samuel called out, rushing out onto the stoop and getting blinded by the angled, heavy drizzle. "Ash, where are you going?"

Again, hindsight—if Ash managed to get out from under Delia's watch once, he was bound to achieve it a second time. As he had seen throughout Ash's youth, the boy was slipperier than a soaped-up arbok.

"_ASH_!" Delia's voice joined in once more, carrying far more shrilly and urgently than his did. She was literally staggering as she cantered up the hill, making the greatest effort to catch up to her elusive son which just wasn't enough. When she finally knew it was impossible, she faltered clumsily to a stop, shoulders slouched in fatigue, and used the only resource she had left—her voice. "Ash, come back here this instant! ASSSH!"

But unsurprisingly, her son paid absolutely no heed, sprinting on—astonishingly swift, considering his deplorable footwear—toward the east pasture. Samuel could only sigh. There was definitely going to be no stopping him—if there was ever a man on a mission, it was Ash, and Professor Oak knew any pleas for him to return, regardless of how loud or demanding or from whom they originated, would be futile.

Delia seemed to realize that rather quickly herself. When Ash had decisively put a good distance between them, her shouts tapered off in defeat. Thank goodness she wasn't making an attempt to follow him—one Ketchum madly roaming his mucky pastures was enough. Besides, if Ash wasn't equipped to handle the impromptu expedition, his mother certainly wasn't, either.

She was dressed a little more appropriately, there was no denying that, but like her son, she was still donning pajamas, and her hood hadn't been fixed tightly enough. Wisps of her long auburn hair spilled from the loose confines and had been rendered dark from being wet. At least she had rain boots on, though. It was all but mere mental security for Samuel. Much like Ash, he imagined she was presently insensitive to all physical discomfort. Having somewhat of a good idea of what was probably going on in her head when she saw Ash flee the house in his condition, she deserved a pass—in fact, she probably deserved a medal for getting as well-dressed as she did under the force of a pressing time limit. It could only take seconds for an irrational Ash to find himself in trouble, and no one knew that more than her.

Ceding to the fact that Ash was out of sight, Delia finally turned to acknowledge the professor. They exchanged a short look of jaded understanding before she plodded over to him. He was relieved—he didn't want her out in the rain any more than he did Ash. It wasn't just about her clothing, either. In her carriage alone, Samuel could see what he was dealing with, and he felt a jagged pang of sympathy for her. Never before had he seen her so lacking her usual pep and youthful sparkle, and he was positive the weather and the situation weren't the only contributing factors to this dearth.

"He told you what happened?" she assumed. He could barely hear her haggard voice over the rain.

"Yes, yes, he did. Please," he begged now, bidding her in with curls of his fingers, "get out of the rain. Come inside."

Delia tilted backward and threw one more hassled glance out toward the field. Ash was clearly gone, so she accepted his offer. Samuel relaxed, although what did it say that a natural worrywart like Delia (whose beloved son was running all over Pallet Town helter-skelter in appalling conditions and a likewise apparel) was more persuadable in this situation than the boy himself?

Question was: would he _ever_ understand this eccentric Ketchum family? Since he couldn't yet figure them out collectively over the better part of twenty years, the answer to that was _probably not_.

But he cared for them just the same, and this sentiment rang particularly true when, up close, he was able to see just how worn-out this poor young woman actually was. She was much paler than Ash and had impressive dark circles lining her glassy eyes. Samuel was aghast. Good heavens, what had Ash done to her this morning? If and when he got Ash back to his house, he'd first make sure he was warm and dry; then, he'd get about wringing his neck.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She sighed long and hard and reached up to remove the stray, wet hair from her cheeks. "I guess so. It's been a stressful morning."

"How long has Pikachu been missing?"

Delia bit her lip and gave him a helplessly dismayed look. "I'm not even sure. A few hours, I suppose? I let him out this morning, but I…I don't even know what time it was."

Professor Oak looked surprised and optimistic at the same time. "You saw him this morning!"

Delia nodded. "Yes. But…but I really can't tell you what time it was. It was after Jay left, I know that. Riley…he just didn't sleep at all this morning; he was so fussy and wanted ten different things at once. At some point, I was downstairs and Pikachu asked to be let out, so I did, and…and that's the last I saw him."

Samuel frowned. "You never let him back in?"

"Riley was screaming his head off. I barely had time to let Pikachu out as it was," Delia replied, her tone so heavy with remorse that Samuel felt sorry for posing the question the way he did. He didn't want to make her upset, he just wanted to gather the facts. He reached out and grasped her wrist comfortingly.

"It's okay, Delia," he reassured her, wanting to erase every last smidgen of that undeserved guilt.

She looked down and nodded, but it was unconvincing. "I…I guess I frankly forgot all about him after I went back upstairs to Riley. I was dead to the world, so after I fed Riley, I just fell right back asleep. Oh, I can't believe I could forget him like that! It's such an awful day outside; he probably didn't want to be out for more than a minute! How could I do that to poor Pikachu?"

"Shhh." Samuel put a finger to his lips to hush her, but again, Delia only looked helpless and distressed that she apparently felt she was the cause of this whole fiasco. That was pure nonsense, Samuel thought. While it was indeed she who let Pikachu out, undoubtedly to see to nature's call, he presumed, there was absolutely no need for her to take such blame upon herself. Pikachu, after all, was not exactly an unpredictable pokémon. He was certainly domesticated, not one to stray. He was hale and hearty, able to endure this weather if forced (unintentionally) to remain in it for quite a while. Delia had to know this. So even if, God-forbid, something had befallen the mouse, it was by no means something she was to be held accountable for.

He wondered fleetingly if Ash had made her feel that way.

"Delia, none of this is your fault," he pledged seriously. She was still gazing down but he knew she was listening. "You did what you had to do; Pikachu had to go out. It's perfectly understandable how you forgot to let him back in. You had other things to attend to at the moment."

"I know. But what do you think happened?" she whispered, finally bringing her eyes up to meet his. "Where do you think Pikachu is?"

Samuel's face fell. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere." He threw a glance toward the field, wondering how far Ash had travelled, if he actually found his pokémon, what kind of alarming shape he was in now. "But first thing's first, we have to go retrieve Ash."

Delia became even more ashen at the reminder of what Ash was up to. "Yes! He can't be out there dressed as he is! He's going to get sick!" She looked as though she was about to bolt out the door but he held her wrist once again.

"Don't worry, we'll get him to come in before that happens." _Ash is strong and resilient, too_, he thought. "Leave that up to me."

Delia reached out and brushed his arm contritely. "I'm so sorry about all this. Barging in on you like this and—"

Holding up a hand to arrest her repentant gibberish, Samuel said, "There's no need to apologize. I want to help. I care about Pikachu, too."

"I know. And I appreciate that," she nodded. Then with a heavy groan, she bowed her head to massage her temple. "I don't need this."

"You're very tired, aren't you?" he stated the obvious, but with a sincere timbre of compassion.

"I have a six-month-old baby," she shrugged resignedly. "I have about a hundred ways to describe how tired I am."

"What is it now, I'm afraid to ask?"

"Inhuman," she blinked sadly, and Professor Oak cringed. Many years ago, he'd been there himself—he knew exactly what she meant. She was right: she didn't need this. She was the last person who needed this. And that's why he was prepared to help her—and Ash—in any way he could.

"Well, that does it, then. First we need to find your son. Then we need to find Pikachu."

She looked indebted and pleased. "Maybe we'll be lucky and find both at once."

"Mmm, hopefully."

"And when we do, I'm going to have an _extremely_ long talk with Ash about the importance of putting on _shoes_ before leaving the house in the middle of a Nor'easter."

"He is quite dedicated to his pokémon, that boy."

"He's quite dedicated to helping me reach the limit of my patience."

Samuel smiled faintly. "He certainly doesn't go about doing things conventionally. Running all the way to my house in the pouring rain in slippers… Heh, your son never ceases to amaze me."

Delia shook her head. "You have no idea how many times I hear that, for all _sorts_ of reasons."

Professor Oak couldn't help the small chuckle that rumbled in his throat. To his delight, it drew a flicker of a smile on Delia's lips. He was glad she could experience that brief second of humor in the midst of all her anxiety. If only he could get through to Ash as successfully, perhaps they'd have a different situation on their hands. One that would result in, of course, the location of Pikachu, but more importantly, the restoration of these dear people's sanity.

"All right," he said, "let's go out and get that boy. Step 'A'…"

Whirling toward the staircase, he bellowed out a reverberating "_TRACEY_!" before turning to Delia, who was taken aback by his shout. "Step 'B': let's get you some coffee."

Her brown eyes widened in pining. "…With a shot of whiskey?"

It was Samuel's turn to be shell-shocked.

Yes, today was _certainly_ not the day he was going to figure out these Ketchums.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Where is Pikachu? :( I'm sure most of you already have your speculations.

Once again, I truly apologize for the outrageous four-month wait for this chapter. I really didn't want it to get this long. :( I'm happy to report, however, that chapter 6 is nearly completed (honest!) and will _certainly_ be posted quicker! I won't be able to work on it in the coming week, as I will be playing pony paparazzi to a talented clan of 3-year-old colts and fillies in Kentucky, but you certainly won't be watching the leaves change color when it's posted. :P

Thank you so much for reading! Comments are wonderful, like air and water.

And have a Happy Kentucky Derby! ;D


	6. Toil and Trouble

Happy Summer, dear readers! Crazy to think that Halloween will be here before you know it! And chances are this story will still be carrying on…

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch_ _Project_. Ash is no doubt pleased about the first, because…well, even though he still would have achieved all that he has, there would have been _a lot_ more bumps and bruises and ego-checks along the way with me at the helm. But double the amount of Pallet Town episodes! Everyone loves those, right? Even Ash? Even if he does have to make sure his room is clean before he throws a single Pokéball? :)

Many thanks for all the reviews, hits, favorites, and alerts received in the past month! I appreciate the support so much; it really keeps me chugging along in-between all the other dozens of projects and activities I pile onto my plate. Things are going to get a little tense from this point onwards, but what fun would it be if they didn't? ;)

Last we left Ash, I believe he was taking a lovely, tranquil stroll around the beautiful hamlet of Pallet?

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 6

"Toil and Trouble"

Ash was starting to fully grasp just how cold and miserable it really was.

The shock of the frigid water oozing through the permeable suede of his slippers had him unconsciously prancing across the pasture on the tips of his numb toes. The ground, saturated from the morning's deluge, yielded at his every step, making his jog even more grueling. He could feel his pajama bottoms becoming increasingly soaked, flapping against his legs, threatening to trip him up if his shoes didn't do it first. The unremitting rain pelted him ruthlessly in the face, preventing him from keeping his eyes forward as he tried to scan the endless spread of Professor Oak's property for a promising glimmer of yellow amidst the grey of the dying grasses and the haze that blanketed it.

"Pikachu!" he cried, his voice not carrying as far as it seemed to have had moments ago. He panted heavily, his throat stinging from the shouts and chill he was not yet accustomed to this season. "Pikachu, are you out here?"

As he dared to steal a glance ahead, his foot sank into a soggy patch of mud and nearly jerked Ash to the ground. He was able to wrench himself free before losing his balance completely, but not without the bog claiming his slipper first. Ash grimaced as his bare foot made contact with the sludgy ground, and spewing out a foul word he usually kept politely reserved to his thoughts, he hobbled to the mud to recover it.

"Oh man," he whimpered as he pulled the shoe from the viscous tract of earth. What was once a warm, beige moccasin was now unrecognizable—a lifeless, sodden slab of material, thoroughly ruined. They'd been brand-new and Ash knew his mother was sure to have a throe over it, but at the moment he could hardly give a damn about something so trivial as a pair of expendable shoes. The only thing he could curse was his own idiocy in choosing such inappropriate footwear for the situation. His toes felt virtually petrified. As he stumbled to pull the useless shoe back onto his foot, he promptly returned to surveying the vicinity.

All around him, a few dozen pairs of eyes were cast curiously in his direction. His boisterous calls had caught the attention of the pokémon dwelling on the professor's acreage, and now they were watching him, this new trespasser a bit more intriguing than grazing and roving. Undaunted, Ash's eyes swiftly roamed and inspected the menagerie before him. Pokémon that could withstand the conditions hadn't been retrieved—ponyta, meganium, venasaur, mareep, among others—but Pikachu was not among them. Of course he wasn't.

"Pikachu!" he yelled again nonetheless. "Come 'ere, Pikachu! C'mon, buddy! Where are you?"

It was so quiet. If Pikachu were in that field, he would have heard him. Ash knew this. As he paused in the mocking stillness, save for a few muffled calls of the pokémon and the rhythm of the rain against the ground, it became clear that his plea was going unheeded. Not knowing what else to do, Ash let his arms fall to his side, defeated, the sleeves of the raincoat swallowing his hands whole and then some.

_Oh my God, Pikachu…where are you?_

He didn't have time to remotely consider his next move before the calm was abruptly penetrated with a loud bellow, and the land began to tremor. Indeed, there was one pokémon who heard its trainer and responded, though it was probably the last one Ash had wished it would be.

"Oh, nooo," he groaned, turning to face the source of the disturbance.

About a half-mile away, his ever-present herd of tauros was barreling toward him, led by his most friendly and valuable charge. In the past, the bulls couldn't have cared less for Ash, content on behaving as wild as Professor Oak's spacious land permitted them, but since developing a relationship with his active battle tauros, suddenly having one friend turned into thirty. For a split second, a surge of fear gripped him as it always did when the large, untamed creatures came rushing to engage him. But just as swiftly is that sensation came, it went, replaced instead by a sinking indifference that surprised him. Exhausted from his worry and his laborious outing, Ash just stood his ground and entrusted the tauros not to run him over in the height of their excitement.

With the way this morning had gone, wouldn't that have been the kicker.

Yet when Tauros, faster and more dominant than the rest (Ash and Professor Oak were no fools when it came to choosing for competition), galloped closer, tossing his head with liveliness and kicking up clumps of mud high into the air, Ash began to lose his nerve. He backed up somewhat and held his hands out—not that that would have protected him from a breakneck, half -ton beast, but it was all he could instinctively do with the adrenaline coursing through him.

Luckily, the pokémon that served him so well in the Orange League had no intentions of trampling his master. A hundred yards from Ash, Tauros decelerated, easing inelegantly but controllably into a trot so that when he reached the boy's outstretched hands, all that knocked into Ash was a dank, probing muzzle. There was still enough momentum, though, to force Ash back a foot.

"Hey, Tauros, hey," he greeted. The stench of wet fur overpowered the existing smell of ozone and dead leaves as the remainder of the herd slowed and split off around him. Some approached Ash briefly before going back to the grass after realizing he bore no treats. His friend, however, remained facing him, pleased his trainer was there, and Ash returned the cordiality by trailing his fingers along the bull's solid forehead. His anxiety was still intense, but for the moment, Ash felt slightly better, comforted by Tauros' company. Something about the imposing creatures bordering him allowed him to feel sheltered and reassured, their untroubled nature fueling a false sense of normality.

Well, normality that entailed Ash situated in the middle of Professor Oak's pasture in the pouring rain and glacial temperatures, clad in pajamas, slippers and his father's tremendous raincoat, standing in what he hoped and prayed was _just_ mud.

Pokémon were too highly perceptible sometimes, and Ash knew Tauros could sense his unrest. The bull grunted in concern and lifted his face to Ash's, condensation bursting from his nostrils into the dense air. As Ash stroked the warm and sticky nose, he gazed at the massive pokémon and couldn't help but take note of his physical durability. This weather didn't phase tauros in the least. Their bodies were plastered in mud and grass as a result of playful rolls, and their great, hoofed feet had no problem traversing the deep puddles. If it were Tauros and not Pikachu who had gotten loose and took off, Ash wouldn't have worried as seriously. As it was, tauros were just more resilient creatures.

Of course, pikachu were common to the area, and Ash was aware that hundreds of the feral mice were scurrying through the Viridian Forest. They had to deal with this wretched day without the sanctuary of a warm house and caring trainer, and they were presumably fine. Deep down, Ash was certain Pikachu could hold his own, as well. But that was if he were alert and able-bodied. That was if Pikachu was _okay_. The last thing Ash wanted to imagine was Pikachu being anything besides, but his mind kept unwillingly falling back to that awful notion, and it was killing him.

If Pikachu was fine, he could have come when called. He would have wanted to see Ash. He would have discerned the urgency in his tone. Above all, he would have been anxious to get out of the rain. This is what confused and frightened Ash the most, knowing how much Pikachu disliked wet weather. It was just too out of the blue for Pikachu's tastes to unexpectedly change and leave Ash to simply presume that his pokémon was dancing between the raindrops, happy-go-lucky. It just wasn't like him. The only surprises Pikachu ever presented were the brilliant leaps and bounds he made in his battle aptitude.

Tauros snorted again and nudged Ash's hand, breaking him from his gloomy reverie.

"Tauros," Ash sighed, his voice catching slightly, "have—have you seen Pikachu? Did you see Pikachu? Is Pikachu here?"

Ash was hoping that the word "Pikachu" and the intonation of his voice would be enough for the bull to discern what was being asked of him. Gazing pleadingly into Taurus' eye, giving him an added visual to work with, Ash searched for any sign that would aid him.

It was Tauros' lack of reaction that spoke most profoundly. If Tauros was aware of Pikachu's whereabouts, he would have given some sort of indication—a turn of his head, if nothing else. Instead, he just flicked his ears and sighed lazily, burrowing his nose deeper into Ash's palm. Biting his lip in disappointment, Ash tiredly accepted the weight and tried to fight down the escalating uneasiness in his stomach.

"'S'okay," he mumbled. "'S'okay, Tauros."

But it wasn't okay, and knowing this, Ash found it was getting harder to keep a positive attitude. He was seconds away from giving in and finding refuge against Tauros' skull to let out his emotions when another sound grabbed his attention. This one was, however, was a little less identifiable than his tauros' mighty cry. Speaking of which, he wasn't the only one put on the alert. All at once, the whole lot of the tauros' heads rose. Ash's grief was momentarily put aside as he strained to make out the sudden commotion that seemed, yet again, to be heading his way.

When he at last recognized what it was, and it seemed so obvious after he had, his shoulders hung in exasperation. He knew he should have expected this; taking off into the field with two people yelling at him was bound to result in someone inevitably coming out for him. If they weren't going to help him find Pikachu, why couldn't they just leave him be?

Sure enough, emerging over one of the broad slopes of the pasture was an all-terrain vehicle, one of the few Professor Oak owned, gunning effortlessly over the wet ground and slicing through standing water. Everything went chaotic. Stirred by the racket bearing down on them, the tauros abruptly took off together, globs of mud projecting in their launch. Ash was startled when even Tauros abandoned his side to join his friends' charge. Just like that, he was all alone again, the bulls putting yards between them in seconds. As the professor normally used one of the ATVs to round up the herd, they clearly believed it was coming for them, but Ash knew who it was really hunting down. Lamenting that he couldn't make as easy an escape, he resignedly turned to greet the vehicle.

He had been certain it was Professor Oak, but as the dirtied ATV slowed in its approach, he was surprised at who he discovered behind the wheel. Cloaked in a shocking yellow rain suit, which hadn't been spared of splatter despite the ATV's mud flaps, was Tracey. Ash felt an immediate calming relief bathe his nerves as the older teen brought the vehicle to a stop before him.

"Hey, Ash," Tracey called over the rumble of the motor. He sounded winded, as if the drive out to him had been an effort. Either that, or Professor Oak had made him rush into this outing with barely a notice. With his mom present and no doubt going on incessantly demanding his return, Ash wasn't going to discount it.

"Tracey."

His friend, whom he hadn't seen since his birthday dinner many days ago, flashed a very brief, sympathetic smile. "I, uh…I heard about Pikachu being missing. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ash replied at once, "I'll find him." His breathing hitched. Hearing the put-on certainly in his tone pained him, because he still couldn't find himself fully embracing it. And he hated that.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," nodded Tracey, doing his best to bolster the conviction. "So no luck out here?"

Put off by the inquiry, Ash gave him a look, one that he was sure conveyed a very clear _Does it _look_ like it?_ But he quickly blinked it away, knowing that was an uncalled-for reaction to Tracey's concern.

"N-no. I don't know. I was hoping, since he wasn't near my house—I just thought he might be here. You—you didn't happen to see him this morning around here, did you?" Ash almost laughed disdainfully: one pointless question following another. He knew Tracey would have certainly already mentioned it if he had. It had to be the moment—just the tangle of the moment.

Tracey's face fell. "This is really the first time I've been out here today. Kind've been waiting for the rain to let up first. Not really stopping, though, is it?"

Alas, this was apparently going to be a prolonged swap of inane chatter, which was only delaying his urgent search, but Ash all the same providing the somber answer. "No, it isn't." Never before he had wanted rain to stop as much as he did now. Naturally, it just started to pick up again, twisting the sharp blade of anguish a little more.

"It's _really_ bad out," Tracey added, too unnecessarily for even this nondescript exchange. It was then that Ash detected the hesitance in his voice, and caught on to what was indeed going on. This wasn't a conversation rendered clumsy just because Tracey didn't know how to address his distraught friend. Tracey was getting to something, and Ash had a good idea of what it was.

"Yeah…" he agreed, testing the waters.

"Maybe…uh, maybe you should come in now."

Oh yeah, this _definitely_ had his mom written all over it.

Reminding himself that Tracey was simply the messenger, Ash took a deep, leveling breath and blinked his aggravation away. "No, no it's okay. I'm fine. I'm gonna stay out and keep looking."

"But—but Ash…" Tracey's voice became heavier with awkwardness, guilt even. Poor guy. He was never the most insistent of people, and he probably knew deep down that he had no shot in hell at convincing Ash to return. He was never a match against Ash's resolve and strength, not like Misty or Brock was. Tracey just happened to be the young, hard-wearing assistant in the house at the time and thus the job had been unluckily imposed on him.

"Y-you should really come inside. You're…" His eyes quickly scanned Ash from head to toe, inspecting his unlikely get-up. "...You're not…dressed for this."

"Yeah, I _know_ that," Ash retorted. He hated how bitter and vicious it slipped out, especially when he saw Tracey's head recoil deeper into his hood at his bark. "It was all I could grab when I left, okay?"

Tracey swallowed noticeably. "So then…why don't you come back with me and I can get you something better to wear. You're totally soaked and…are you wearing _slippers_?"

Ash stamped a foot huffily, almost as if to rebel against Tracey's incredulity. "I'm _fine_," he insisted again.

"You can't be fine, walking around out here in slippers. Ash, you gotta be cold!"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Tracey's voice was becoming stronger, more determined. "You're shivering."

It was only when he said it that Ash realized he was right. He could practically hear the clattering of his teeth over the idle of the ATV. Knowing he couldn't deny it, he wrapped his arms around himself and grit his jaw secure. "Whatever! It doesn't matter, I'll _be okay_. I—I gotta stay out here, Trace, I gotta keep looking. Okay?"

"You're not gonna be able to keep looking if you get sick, Ash!"

_Watch me_! Ash was ready to snap, but bit it back. Again, it wasn't Tracey he was angry at for this disruption. Still, he was becoming increasingly annoyed and didn't know how much longer he could hold a civil tongue. Tracey didn't deserve it, even though he _was_ the one wasting his time. Maybe Tracey himself was becoming more drawn in to the task seeing how pitiable and unbefitting Ash was, but nevertheless Ash had to put his foot down and refocus on finding Pikachu. In the end, Tracey was going to have to step aside or help him out.

And thankfully, the former pokémon watcher was just the person to persuade either way. Suddenly, Ash felt fortunate that it was Tracey who had been sent after him. God only knew how powerless Ash might have been if it had been Brock instead—in some situations, Brock's influence was just a shade or two off Jay's.

"Tracey, I'm not gonna get sick. I know my mom and Professor Oak sent you out here to come get me, but just tell them I'm fine, okay? I'll come in…" _When I find him. But what if I don't find him—yet? _"…Soon. I promise."

"Ash, I…" Tracey bit his lip nervously. He revved the ATV once, probably as a distraction. "I was told not to come back without you."

Indignation welled up in Ash. "Who told you that? Mom?"

"Well…yes. Both of them did. They're worried."

"Tracey—"

"They're just worried because of how you're dressed, Ash!" Tracey swore, desperate not to rile up Ash any further. "Please, just come back with me and we'll get you some boots to wear, and—and some rain pants. I mean…" Tracey absentmindedly pulled his hood down further over his brow as he noted that Ash was still smaller than he was, "you—well, you might not fit into my clothes that great, either, but it'll definitely be better than being out here in your pajamas!"

"If I come back to the house Mom's gonna make me come home," grated Ash.

"Well," Tracey stammered, still overly flustered, "m-maybe that'd be better even still! Then you could get your own boots and jacket and—"

"Tracey, I'm not going back to the house!" Ash shouted. "If Mom gets me home, there's no way she's going to let me go back out in this weather. She'll make me wait till the rain stops, and what if it doesn't stop today?"

"It's not supposed to," Tracey affirmed reluctantly.

"Then I'm screwed," Ash concluded decisively, both to his friend and to himself. For the first time in their frenzied discord, Tracey didn't attempt a riposte. Ash's voice lowered as he resumed. "Pikachu's out here somewhere. He's cold and wet, too, and that's not bringing him home on his own, so he has to be in some sort of trouble. I have to help him—I have to look for him. He probably needs me, and…" Ash took a deep breath as he found himself trying to oppress his emotions again. "And that's why I really don't care if I'm freezing and wet and not wearing the right kind of clothes because none of that matters to me right now. All that matters to me is finding him and making sure he's okay."

Tracey didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look of pure understanding and sympathy he was giving Ash expressed enough, reminded him of whom he was talking to. It was redundant for Ash to convince Tracey how important it was for him to find Pikachu—that would be clear to anyone who spent at least five minutes with him at any given time. But Tracey had a boss and a fretful mother to answer to if he came back empty-handed (Ash wondered who the modest Tracey feared more), and Ash recognized just what an uncomfortable position Tracey had been placed in.

Well, if Tracey wasn't supposed to go back without Ash, then he wasn't going to go back at all. Eyeing the ATV, Ash felt his nerves itch with motivation.

"Hey, could you give me a ride on that thing?"

Tracey looked flabbergasted by Ash's sudden change of heart. "Huh? B-back to the house?"

Ash scowled. "No, no—I mean to the other side of the preserve! Down by the stream and everything. I haven't checked there yet."

"Ash—"

"You'd get me there much faster on that thing than I would walking! Please, Tracey? You'd be helping me out so much!"

"I want to help, Ash, but I _really_ think you should change your clothes first!"

"Don't worry about my clothes!" Ash stressed firmly once more, even if he was starting to feel the anesthetizing chill of his garments straight down to his bones. He refused to give in to the suffering—it was his fault he was dressed like this, and he was going to have to deal with it. "Just please give me a ride?"

Ash must have looked—and sounded—more horrible than he thought. That had to be it. Because Tracey _knew_. Under any other kind of circumstances, his friend would have been more than willing to give his time and effort to help Ash find his beloved companion. Ash couldn't possibly recall in one shot all the times Tracey had stood faithfully by his side in the Orange Archipelago, facing whatever dilemma beleaguered the group with a steady judiciousness that came with age and experience. He'd rarely challenged Ash, and it wasn't simply because Ash's tenacity would override his diffidence most of the time. It was because he was a true blue friend; Ash's quest and his friendship meant something to him, and there was no doubt in Ash's mind that there was no difference now.

Tracey was worried about Pikachu, but he was more worried about his friend's well-being.

A merciless squall nearly knocked Ash over and sent a paralyzing chill up his whole body. Okay, that was _cold_. Regardless of his brave stubbornness, there was no denying that. It was the worst reminder of the unforgiving conditions yet, and Ash was sure that being as wringing wet as he was, it was only going to get worse—the wind hadn't been much of a factor, but it was starting to show its force as the afternoon wore on. It had to be around noon time, but obstructed by the heavy cloud cover, the sun still bore no power, gave no warmth. Forcing his mind momentarily on his state, Ash was overwhelmed with the extent of his impediments, how cold he actually was. The tops of his ears were actually beginning to throb.

Tracey was still giving him that look, the one that clearly stated he had much to say, and none of it Ash wanted to hear. He wasn't making any motion to leave, either. He didn't want to—for more than one reason. For a moment, the only thing warmed of Ash was his heart.

He wasn't going to stop looking for Pikachu. But he wasn't going to alienate this good, caring friend of his, either.

"Tracey… What about this?" he asked warily. "Just…just give me a quick ride around the preserve. It won't take too long, will it?"

"…No…"

"Just to…see if Pikachu is anywhere. Round sweep of the place? And then…" He finally gave in, because it was unavoidable. "…Then you can take me back to my house."

"Your house?"

"Yeah," Ash sighed, shrugging. "I…I _am_ cold. And I want to be able to search for Pikachu no matter what, just—just in case… And…and I guess I have to put some shoes on. So I can come back out here."

_And I _will, Ash avowed to himself. If Tracey was worried, then his mother would be out-and-out beside herself. Regardless, nothing and nobody was going to hinder his search, stop him until Pikachu was found and safely back by his side. Weather be damned…once he was sporting an appropriate attire. He couldn't fool himself any longer.

All he needed now was Tracey's support. "Is that okay? Would you do that?"

Luckily, the older teen appeared overly relieved with Ash's capitulation. "Yeah—yeah, sure, I can do that!" he readily agreed. He inched himself forward on the ATV's seat to give Ash room to join him. The vinyl was wet, but it made no difference to Ash as he swung his leg over and settled behind Tracey. Right away, his feet felt better being removed from the deep sludge they'd been sinking into. It was a split second of pure respite. It made Ash more ambitious and more secure in his decision to take care of himself before continuing his pursuit.

He would be no use to Pikachu if he ended up in the hospital with pneumonia.

Tracey instantly took off—probably a bit too hurriedly—and Ash had to grab around his friend's waist to keep from tumbling off. Once he gained his balance, he clutched the bars of the rack behind him and ducked behind Tracey's back to shield his face from the onslaught of rain. Still, he kept his eyes and ears peeled, his voice ready, his attention trained on the landscape whizzing by.

Tracey, who had gone from a nuisance to a lifesaver, craned his head back. Ash could barely make him out over the roar of the engine, even though he was screaming.

"You'll stick up for me when I do what I'm not supposed to do and take this thing on the road back to your house, right?"

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Ash smiled slightly. He owed Tracey far more. "For what you're doing for me now? Absolutely!"

His short-lived mirth was just that. Tracey was true to his word—the tour of the preserve, even with slowing down and killing the engine periodically to potentially hear Pikachu, did not take terribly long. Before Ash knew it, he was being dropped off in his front yard, let down, dismayed, and frozen to the core.

He did not have Pikachu.

* * *

Getting to sleep that night was obviously not going to happen. Ash didn't even know why he'd bothered putting on his (fresh) pajamas and crawling into bed. Oh yes, now he remembered. They wouldn't let him do otherwise.

That evening, after listlessly pushing the food around his dinner plate, he'd stood on his front stoop, gazing out hopefully into the distance as night swallowed the land. It felt like hours that he was out there, his feet twitching restlessly in place. It was finally Misty who coaxed him inside after repeated failed attempts by his parents and Brock, tugging his hand gently and luring him with her beseeching eyes. It was late, and they were tired, worn out from the commotion the day had unexpectedly presented. Ash was exhausted, too, but settling in for the night and surrendering from the search, albeit temporarily, seemed like an impossible move.

It had to be noted, though, that aside from his unpleasant, unsuccessful morning excursion, there hadn't been much to _call_ a search. The weather had gotten progressively uglier as the day wore on, hindering Ash and the others from staying outdoors for an extended period of time. Even in full rain garb (his mother had easily found his raincoat in the closet), Ash could barely lift his head to look ahead due to the hammering rain. He'd still ventured out several times, much to the dismay of Delia, but even he had to finally admit that it was impossible to get too far. The only consolation he received was that Professor Oak had sent the word out to his neighbors and nearby colleagues of Pikachu's disappearance, and had also filed a missing pokémon report with the local police. The latter didn't boast a strong success rating, but it was a comfort nonetheless, something Ash desperately grappled onto.

The rain ultimately began to taper off in the late afternoon, but by that time, the sun had set, and new, more difficult obstacles were posed by the darkness. Ash was left with no choice but to come in for good, cursing the weather's course as if it were calculated instead of simply a terrible coincidence.

Now he found himself laying flat on his back in bed, his head directed toward the window, his eyes and ears wide open. Below him, he could hear Brock's quiet breathing, rhythmic with slumber. Ash envied him. He knew he would never fall asleep. Not when each time he closed his eyes they willed themselves anxiously open again. Not when he twisted and turned about four dozen times in the short period he had been in bed, lacking the familiar ball of warmth pressed against his legs or his back or his stomach. There were times when Pikachu truly did find particularly bad places to curl up against Ash, keeping him from finding a comfortable position for sleep or shifting without awaking his pokémon. But tonight, Ash knew there was no way he would cope without it.

Pikachu wasn't there. He didn't know where Pikachu was. And here he was, laying in bed, doing nothing about it. Nothing but fretting.

And fretting, Ash realized angrily, wasn't helping matters much.

Flipping onto his stomach, his legs getting slightly tangled within his covers, Ash buried his head onto his pillow and tried to unwind. There was nothing he could do at the moment, he kept reminding himself. Not a single thing he hadn't done during the day. All there was to do now was sleep. Rest. Build strength for tomorrow. Make the morning come faster.

He remained in that position for well over a quarter-hour, each minute dragging by perceptibly. Around him, the world continued uninterrupted. Brock's breathing never hitched; the ticking of his clock never stilled; the shadows of the tree branches outside his room continued to sway gracefully. The peacefulness of the night was deceiving. Ash was anything but peaceful.

_Pikachu's gone. Pikachu's gone._ The thought played over and over again in the skipping record player of his mind, overriding the stringent appeal he was making with himself to _calm down, go to sleep_. The conscious side of the battle was floundering, and before long, he could do nothing but helplessly surrender to the demand of the mental anguish.

_No, I can't do this anymore_, he nearly said out loud, lifting his head from his pillow. The crisp air hit his flushed skin and moistened eyes. _I can't just…lay here. I can't…_

He _could_ do something other than lie there. And whether or not it was the most logical thing to do, Ash didn't care. With just a slight moment of hesitation, he slipped out of his sheets, his heart jumping as the chill of the room enveloped him. His eyes had adjusted quite well to the darkness thanks to his involuntary vigilance, and carefully, he peered down at the outline of his friend. Brock was cocooned in his comforter and very much asleep. Hopefully, the rest of the house was quite the same.

_I'm coming, Pikachu, I'm coming_, Ash chanted to himself as he quietly descended from his bunk to the soft carpet below. It was times like these that he was overjoyed Brock was such a deep sleeper. If his friend knew what he was planning, he wouldn't even get as far as his doorway.

With as much discreetness as he could manage, Ash opened his drawer and pulled out the first long-sleeved shirt he made contact with. Not even bothering to remove his pajama top, Ash yanked the shirt over his head. Thankfully, he remembered tossing his jeans and sweatshirt over his desk chair, and stealthily went to retrieve them. He couldn't believe the success he was having at keeping quiet, but he was determined. Brock could _not_ wake up. Ash had to do this, and fast. His room may not have always been the neatest, but he knew where everything was, and in a matter of minutes, he was dressed, he'd assembled his Pokébelt and his backpack (thankfully equipped for the continuation of his journey that his mother had halted), and he was out his bedroom door.

Getting around the dark house was not as easy as navigating his bedroom. The carpets aided his secrecy, but Ash still tip-toed delicately to the staircase, holding his breath the whole time. He had no set goal in mind, no plan of action, no direction established. He didn't know where he was going to search or how far he'd venture. All he could think of was Pikachu, out there somewhere—in the dark, by himself, unprotected, beaten down for hours by the weather, possibly hurt. Requiring Ash's help. That objective alone convinced Ash that sleeping was simply a waste of time. Once he was out of the house, he'd let his intuition lead him. Pikachu needed him…and the night was _not_ about to be an obstacle to that.

Once down the stairs, miraculously with only a few small creaks, he shoved his feet into his sneakers and furiously laced them up. The whole house was encased in overwhelming darkness. There was no doubt that the atmosphere was eerie; at any other time, doing what he was about to do what have creeped Ash out. It was amazing what devotion enabled one to do.

Biting his bottom lip, Ash slowly unlocked the deadbolt of the door and cupped his clammy palm around the doorknob. The door notoriously groaned a lot, but somehow Ash was going to get out of there without making a sound. He _had_ to. Easing it open an inch a second, Ash calmed his racing heart with the steadiest breathing his body could achieve. It was working—_it was working_! Having edged the door open enough to squeeze his slender body through, Ash went to work closing it with the same caution.

As soon as that arduous task was completed, Ash turned and took in the surroundings. The rainclouds had moved on out hours ago, but the cold temperatures had remained, and instinctively, Ash pulled his hood over his head. While the moon was full and bright, it was low in the sky, allowing long, dark shadows to swallow whatever the moon's rays didn't touch. Automatically, he twisted his backpack in front of him and went to obtain his flashlight. With incredibly shaky hands, stricken from anxiety, Ash fumbled with the zipper of his bag, tugging at it impatiently before it finally gave way. Yeah, he definitely needed more light.

And suddenly, there _was_ light. Strong, bright illumination that cast his shadow twenty feet before him like a heinous presence, startling him out of his frenzied concentration. Immediately after, the door he had meticulously closed behind him swung open noisily. He spun around in an instant, his eyes assaulted by the porch light piercing his enlarged pupils and his heart jolted by the dark figure silhouetted in front of it.

"…Ash?"

"Dad?" The word caught in his throat as he struggled to regain his breath.

Quickly, Ash recognized his father, who leaned tiredly against the deck rail and gawked at him with squinted eyes, burdened by sleepiness, as if struggling to identify his son.

"What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, bewildered and concerned.

Ash was frozen in place from the unexpected interruption, his hand still clutched at the zipper of his opened backpack. His breath quickened, bursting short clouds of condensation from his nose into the nippy air, as his stare zeroed in on his father with the same wide-eyed look of a stantler caught in headlights. The simple answer to Jay's question lingered on his tongue, snagged with intense hesitation.

"I, uh, I'm…" he stuttered, ducking his head as far back into his hood as possible. His grip on the zipper loosened in order to pull the bag timidly to his chest. "I'm—I want to find Pikachu." He exhaled heavily. "I'm going to look for Pikachu."

For a split second, the dazed expression on Jay's face didn't waver. Ash wondered briefly if his dad was too tired and disoriented to not only register his disclosure, but allow it. But just as quickly as that ridiculous theory passed through his mind, Jay frowned and shook his head.

"No, Ash. No," he sighed, lifting himself off the rail. He ran one hand through his untamed hair, mussed from his short time in bed, and beckoned his son sluggishly with the other. "It's late. Come inside now."

_No_. The word registered terribly within Ash, and reactively, he felt his body tense and his opposition kicking in.

"B-but," he objected, spoken with an unsteady mix of resolve and denial. His head darted momentarily toward the road. "I…can't. I have to go…"

"You're not going anywhere right now," Jay said matter-of-factly. He shuffled his bare feet back toward the door. "C'mon, you need to go to bed. We'll continue looking in the morning."

Even though Ash's features were jumpy, his feet were planted firmly in place. "But Dad…no…no. I don't want to wait till the morning—I _can't_," he protested, his unstable voice cracking slightly.

Jay stopped in the doorway, his frown deepening. As his sleepy vision cleared, he finally began to make out his son on the front lawn, fully dressed with his backpack in hand, appearing as though he was heading out to continue his journey at a rather random, ungodly hour of the night.

"I can't sleep," Ash continued, his face furrowing pleadingly at his dad's look. "Please, I have to go look for him. I can't go back. He's out there, and I have to find him—"

"Ash," interrupted Jay calmly but firmly. "Stop it. It's late—_very_ late. You aren't going out to look for Pikachu right now. Okay? Come inside."

Balking, Ash shook his head, panic surging within him. "No…no, I can't!" he cried.

In that instant, the air about the two altered. Ash's indecisiveness was dissipating, revealing a determined young man who was not to be deterred, while his father's sleepiness was beginning to lift, a seed of impatience starting to bud with the generous watering of his son's stubbornness.

Ash opened his mouth to further defend his need, but Jay interjected quickly and pointedly. "Ash, listen to me. It's after midnight. It's freezing out here. And everyone's in bed. If you think I'm just going to let you go out there and look for Pikachu right now, in the middle of the night, _by yourself_, you're crazy."

"I'll _be okay_!" Ash insisted on the verge of whining. "I know my way around—"

"It's not about that. It's about the fact that you're dead tired—"

"I'm _not_ tired."

"You will be before you know it. And I won't have you wandering the streets when your body finally decides to quit on you. Now, _come on now_. Get back inside and get to bed," Jay ordered once again, his voice lowering but the demand unwavering. "We'll look for Pikachu tomorrow."

His son didn't reply nor move—just stared forlornly. His father's words made sense—they did. But didn't _Ash's_ words make sense, too?

"_Ash_," Jay growled warningly at his son's lack of response.

"Please…don't make me," Ash begged softly. "Please, Dad, just let me go look for him—"

Jay threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "Ash—no. NO! What part of that do you not understand?"

Ash ducked his head, and at once, Jay saw alarm, tenacity, and dismay all flash in his son's glassy eyes. Ash wasn't in his right mind; he knew that. The boy's conduct was no different than what it was when Jay had returned home and saw firsthand how this terrible ordeal was affecting his boy. Ash was going through a tremendous shock, and he wanted to remain proactive. But no matter how independent Ash could be on his own, Jay wasn't about to let his child wander around Pallet Town in the middle of a cold night while he and the rest of his family slept peacefully. Underneath the doggedness, he was certain Ash understood that, but getting through to him didn't look to be an easy task ahead.

Jay leaned forward on the railing of the deck and braced as the chill of the night penetrated through his thin sleep shirt. No way was Ash staying out here. No way in _hell_.

"Ash. I'm not letting you—" he started, calmer this time.

"Then come with me."

So much for placidity. Jay clenched his jaw. "No one is going _anywhere_ right now. Okay? You're being _incredibly_ ridiculous now. Quit it. I'm serious."

"I am, too!" Ash yelled, his own intolerance kicking in. "Dad, I'm not going back to bed! I can't! I can't when I know Pikachu is out there alone and lost and—"

"_SHHHH_!" Jay ordered, planting a finger to his lips. "_Lower your voice_."

"Then let me go!" Ash replied through gritted teeth.

"Ash! You—_uggggh_!"

His heart thumping violently in his ribcage, Ash watched Jay dump his head into his hand. His father was giving himself a moment, summoning patience. Normally, Ash would concede rapidly to such a warning sign, a solid purge of his brashness, but these circumstances were different. This was not a time to simply fold. He needed to make Jay comprehend that he couldn't give up. He'd spent the last three years of his life navigating the woods, oftentimes at night, and Pallet Town was no different—heck, it was more familiar! If anything was a huge waste of time in finding Pikachu, this argument was. Dammit, if only he had been a _little quieter_ leaving the house…

"Son," Jay's entreated, rubbing his temple, "don't do this to me now, okay? Please? I'm tired. And you're tired. Just…_please_? Come inside and go to bed? Don't make me ask again."

Ash could hear the exhaustion in his dad's voice, and it did make him feel sorry. His father just wanted him in bed so that he could be at peace. But Ash wanted to be at peace, too. And that wasn't going to happen so long as Pikachu was missing in action. Making a decision between honoring his dad's command and remaining loyal to his best pal tugged at Ash's conscience. Maybe it was the slight defeat in Jay's stance, unintended on his father's part, but Ash just couldn't—_couldn't—_think of giving in.

In the end, his resolve in finding Pikachu overcame his rationale. Ash's feet slowly began to back up and away from the house. Accompanying that was a gradual twist of his body. As subtle as it was, however, Jay noticed. Nothing got past Jay. He could see right away the decision his distraught boy's mind was making.

"Ash," he cautioned, his eyes narrowing.

Jay's voice stopped Ash, but only briefly. He clenched his eyes shut, knowing the trouble that would brew from this, but it was the lesser of two outcomes. Didn't his dad _see_? As Pikachu's trainer and friend, it was his responsibility to do this.

Yes…yes, that was correct. His responsibility—his _obligation_. He was doing what any other pokémon trainer would do in this instance. Going back inside simply was not an option. The decision was made. Whether Jay liked it or not.

Taking a deep breath, Ash continued his rotation, and finally found himself facing the road completely.

"_Ash_." Deeper now, more frustrated, more threatening. "Get. Inside."

The sharp, no-nonsense demand made Ash cringe. It was very clear now his dad was done appealing. If he didn't obey, there would be hell to pay for this later. But Ash would deal with that when it came to pass. After all, wasn't it a justifiable price to pay for listening to his heart? Perhaps, in the end, Jay would come to realize that what he was doing here was important, the _right_ thing to do. At this moment, Pikachu _needed him_, much more than his dad needed him in bed. And with that final reasoning, he took one small step toward the road.

"You go one inch further and I'll come out there and drag you back in myself! You hear me?"

The decibels may have just increased a little bit, but all that was needed was Jay's severe tone for Ash to unwillingly halt in his tracks. Nothing more was needed to alert him that the levee of his father's temper was about to burst. If he did venture any further, Jay would retrieve him. And he wouldn't do it gently, either. In that dreadful moment, Ash realized that he was ultimately going to lose, regardless of his willpower. If it came to force—and by the sound of Jay's voice, it _would_—he was unquestionably no match for Jay's strength. Ash's shoulders slumped as he was overwhelmed with defeat.

_Pikachu…I'm sorry, buddy…_

His face skewed with setback and grief, Ash grudgingly turned to face Jay and was met with a very unyielding glare.

"Dad…"

"In_side_," he demanded, pointing to the door.

After one more lingering second of reluctance, Ash lugged himself toward the house, swiping a hand at his pooling eyes. He hated this. Hated being caught. Hated being forbidden from making his own choices. Hated being so weak, unable to defend himself, giving up so easily. And, at present, hated his dad for having no sympathy for him, no support for what he needed to do.

Jay's face had softened, but as Ash neared, he unconsciously drew himself in and braced, both out of resentment for his father and the fear that Jay still had half-a-mind to act on his irritation. His worry was validated as Jay grabbed his arm as he was about to pass by and jerked him toward him.

"Dad, no—"

His voice was muted as Jay pressed Ash's damp face into his chest, trapping the boy in a strong hug. It only took a second for Ash to stop panicking and submit to the embrace. It was firm and restricting and he was still a little too angry to accept it, but as his heart gradually calmed and his dad's hold warmed his shaking body, Ash went slack, and the stubborn tears he'd held pent-up all day finally gave way. Jay clutched a protective arm around Ash's shoulders as the vibration of his boy's sudden cries broke his heart in two.

"I'm sorry, I…I'm-m just so scared…" Ash struggled to explain through the sobs that had rapidly taken control of him.

"Shhhhh." Jay cupped his hand around Ash's head.

"I can't sleep, Dad, I can't, I tried…"

"I know, bud, I know."

"I miss him," Ash sniveled. "I just want him back; I can't stand him being gone. I wanna go look for him so bad…"

"Shhhh," Jay soothed again. "I know you do. But you can't right now, kiddo. Not right now."

Ash succumbed to his cries, reluctantly accepting his father's sensitive words. Jay winced and held him closer, wishing with all his might he could say something to make Ash feel better, to allay his dread…something not generic, cliché, obligatory. Something his son could grasp onto and trust and believe in. But it was just too hard to say the reassuring things that Jay himself was unable to certify in his own mind. He couldn't allow his child to stray dangerously off to do something Jay felt, sadly, would result in failure. He held his own speculations of what could have happened to Pikachu, only because Jay was hardened by his years of experience in the disappointment of reality. But this was neither the time nor place to have that conversation with Ash. All he could do now was help the poor boy get some much needed rest.

"Wanna sit on the couch with me for a while?" Jay whispered tenderly.

"I'unno," Ash wheezed. The misery in his voice was enough of an answer for Jay. Ash couldn't be left alone right then.

"Come on, let's get you out of the cold."

Jay finally shut the door on the cool autumn night and guided his drained son to the couch. As soon as they sat down, Ash instinctively curled into Jay and deposited his face on his father's shoulder, wiping his dripping eyes into his shirt.

"We'll keep looking tomorrow," Jay said softly, pressing his son's head lovingly closer. "Okay? I promise. Close your eyes now. Rest."

"Mm," Ash replied sluggishly, his ability to speak suddenly a draining effort. As it was, his tears had well extinguished every last reserve of energy in his system. Almost at once, he could feel his body yielding to the unanticipated comfort. He found himself fighting to retain his once-consuming worry, the anxiety giving way under the burden of his looming fatigue. In his clouded perception, he could vaguely hear his dad pick up the remote and turn on the TV, feel Jay reach to pull a blanket over him, squeeze him closer. As the last of his tears dried, leaving his face bloated and raw and his head encumbered, there was not much left of which Ash was cognizant. But of that little awareness enduring, there was one prominent thought that wafted with him into sleep.

No way in the world could he ever really hate his dad.

* * *

He knew where he was right away.

The smell was what tipped him off initially. It was the only thing that _could_, as his other senses were stymied by the stuffy, opaque sack he'd been gracelessly transported in. He could barely hear a sound through the dense, rubber material, yet the unique aromatic blend of corrosion and pokémon territorial markings stirred his memory instantly. Hardly a forgettable scent, and also, it was only yesterday he'd been introduced to this place.

He was then deposited—more like _dropped_—into an electric-proof (naturally, though he had to validate with a few shocks) crate, not much roomier than the sack, but at least he could breathe. And he could see that he was, indeed, back in the old house with the warped, rough floors that Pikapi had been so eager to explore the day before. _Why_ he was there, though, added confusion to his already scattered, anxious mind.

Getting stolen by these three unrelenting dunderheads was, of course, nothing new to Pikachu, but the way this day had panned out was definitely out of the ordinary. It all began with being strangely and curtly left outside early that morning. Pikachu had been confounded and _unquestionably_ unhappy about this abnormal situation. He'd even been quick about his business! He _had_ to be: the rain was coming down hard, his fur was getting soaked, and he was catching a nasty chill. Why were they not letting him back in? Had they forgotten about him? Had they not wanted him back in the house? Was it _because_ he was wet, and they remembered the last time he came in from the rain and unintentionally left a lengthy trail of prints from the front door all the way through the kitchen and into the dining room?

Whatever was the case, his pleas had been ignored. Hassled and put-off, he was just about ready to dip under one of the bushes to take refuge from the rain when suddenly his world had gone black. While certainly taken by surprise, it didn't take more than a second for him to figure out what was occurring. At once, he'd let loose with shocks and bolts and aggressive struggles, but it was no use. As he was blindly dragged and carted further and further away, soaked, cold, flustered, and powerless, all he could wonder was if anyone _knew_. He'd been taken by Team Rocket countless times, but nearly all of those times it was right under Pikapi's watch and to the tune of his trainer's furious shouts and demands for his return.

This time, Pikapi didn't even know he'd been let outside. _Left_ outside.

At that, Pikachu had felt panic like never before. He was completely helpless, at the mercy of whatever they decided to do with him and wherever they decided to take him.

But then, out of the blue, there they were. It made sense for Team Rocket to pause for a moment following a victorious heist, but this was the _last_ place Pikachu would have expected. And it didn't look like a brief pit-stop, either. From his crate, perched atop an old, chipping breakfront in an upstairs bedroom, he could see the room's refuse pushed off into a far corner, making space for sleeping bags and other supplies. Two small lanterns bathed the room in a weak glow. It definitely looked as though Team Rocket had chosen this unlikely spot as their temporary abode. Even if filthy, rotting, and drafty, the house was a sanctuary from the rain.

Pikachu then huddled in the crate for hours, his fur gradually drying and his unease rising. It took them a while, but they did eventually give him food and water. This puzzled Pikachu even more. Why were they feeding him, taking care of him, not just rushing him off to some hidden, remote location, putting a secure distance between him and Pikapi? Was it just because of the rain? Did they plan on stealing more of his friends later on? Although the time-out was presently in Pikachu's favor, he couldn't help but be mystified by Team Rocket's motive. They weren't the brightest individuals, but even this seemed overly careless of them.

He hadn't eaten that morning, but he didn't dare touch the food. He hadn't even sniffed it. The pit in his stomach that was once occupied with hunger was now substituted with trepidation. As the day wore on, all he could dwell on and anticipate was Pikapi coming to find him and rescue him. It only seemed a matter of time. Especially since he was so near! Yet his trainer was not showing up. He was never even in the vicinity—Pikachu would have heard him, sensed him. As it turned out, no one approached the house since they had arrived. Was it true, then? Did they really not know he'd been taken?

Or were they not coming because the house was so forbidden? Pikachu had felt the lingering tension when they'd been there the day before. He knew it was a place they were not supposed to be—the uncertainty had oozed from Pikachupi's scent. As these added factors invaded his mind, Pikachu's edginess intensified.

Meowth was the first to notice his indifference toward the food. He'd hopped onto the table and given Pikachu a worrisome, almost sympathetic look. Pikachu had bristled at the audacious concern.

"Ain't ya hungry, Pikachu?"

Unable to counter with his electricity, Pikachu had backed into a corner of the crate and leveled a hostile glare at the cat.

"Hey." Meowth had turned to Jessie and James, seated on their sleeping bags and nibbling their own meager portions. "Pikachu's not eatin' anyting."

Jessie had scoffed through a full-mouth. "I did my part. If it wants to starve itself to death, that's its own brainless decision."

It would be a while before he starved. But when they weren't looking, Pikachu had discreetly lapped up some water; the stress had dehydrated him.

Now the room was dark; a whole day had passed. The rain let up at last. The perpetual fear of them finally picking up and continuing on was always at the forefront of Pikachu's mindset, but all of a sudden the celebratory mood was starting to shift. They were arguing. The trio's previous prattling tones of self-satisfaction and delight were replaced by sharp, irritable remarks. Though Pikachu couldn't decode every word passed between them with swelling heatedness, it was easy to determine that there was a conflict of interests.

"But I thought you were afraid of going anywhere near that house..."

"For the _last time_, I am _not_ afraid to go near that house!"

"Yeah, right! Dat's why you had us standin' a mile away when we snatched Pikachu!"

"That was so Pikachu didn't hear us coming! And so we could be _somewhat_ inconspicuous, you blundering flea-bag! Besides, you-know-who was gone. So there!"

"But he'll be dere _now_!"

"I know that! But he won't be awake! What do you think he is, Meowth, a vampire? We'll pull this off without them even twitching in their sleep."

"But Jessie, I don't understand _why_ we have to do this! We have Pikachu! We should be getting as far away from there as possible! The longer we wait the more of a chance they have to find us!"

"That's why we _are_ doing this, James. In the end, you'll realize it's the perfect, surefire escape plan!"

"The poifect, surefire escape plan woulda been ta run when we had da chance!"

"Are you crazy? It'd just been let out! If we didn't hide, they would've found us for sure! We _needed_ to come here."

"Yeah, so now dat it's gettin' dark, we should hightail it outta here!"

"_Ugh_, we will! But you have to let me do this first! This'll get them off our trail for good; you'll see! All we need to do is fill their simple, little twerpish minds with a ridiculous notion they're bound to believe. They'll be so distracted it'll give us plenty of time to get Pikachu to the boss without having to worry about them tracking us down!"

"But…how can you be sure it's going to work? They might not believe it…"

"Trust me, they'll believe it. It's guaranteed to throw them off. Not to mention be utterly hilarious!"

"That's why you're doing this."

"Oh, whatever, James! If that's what you want to think, go ahead! And even if it _was_, wouldn't that be good reason alone? Nothing like adding a little insult to injury! Especially since it fits in so well with the pathetic disaster of a project they were working on."

"Well…I have to admit, it does sound rather tempting. But I still think we should quit while we're ahead."

"_Quit_ isn't in my vocabulary, James."

"Neder is '_while we're_ _ahead_.'"

"I guess there's no changing your mind, then, is there…?"

With James' apparent weary submission, Jessie smirked and slowly made her way over to Pikachu's crate. Even though he'd been intensely focused on their conversation, her sudden advance still startled him. His cheeks crackled threateningly, if only for good measure.

"Oh, there isn't," she sang, a dark chuckle resonating in her throat. Pikachu wasn't able to deduce what it was they were scheming, but there was no questioning who won the dispute. The worry he'd felt all day came to a head with her shadowy, felonious face alone. "I just wish I could stick around long enough to see the look on that damn brat's face when he finds out just who _is_ responsible for his precious little rat's disappearance…!"

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

I must admit, it was almost too easy to write Ash in this chapter—I can relate to him. Well, regarding the after-midnight endeavor, _not_ the crazy spin around the soggy, cold meadow (would _anyone_ else do that—really?). Can I tell you how many times my cat has snuck out at night, right before we're all ready to go to bed, and refused to come inside? I know, I know—cats can totally hold their own outdoors. But my cat…he's a tad…reckless. -_-; Like, he loves to dart across the street when cars are coming. And he will confront any creature, regardless of its size. So leaving him to his own devices out there? It's worrying. And annoying. And it has me tossing and turning in bed, having horrible dreams when I _do_ manage to fall asleep for a moment, and going to my front and back door every half-hour calling to him and beseeching him to knock it off and come back inside. Of course, cats _loooove_ the nighttime, so he's probably thinking, "Yeah, right, sucker!" but then by 6 AM, after a dreadful, fitful night's sleep, I stumble to the door _yet again_ and look who comes scurrying in, rubbing against my legs to the point of nearly knocking me over, and meowing ceaselessly, as if to say, "Did you forget about me?" Le sigh. _Pets_.

So. ^^;; I had Ash take that a step further. Because Ash is always ready to take _anything_ a step further, isn't he? Especially when Pikachu is involved. Who, poor thing, had to spend the night in the Old Simmons Place. *shiver, and yuck*

Tomorrow morning's gonna be a doozy. :) Thanks for reading! Reviews and constructive criticism would be divine!


	7. Haunting Motives

Another four month delay...yeesh, what can I say now? My summer was exceedingly busy and I rarely got a chance to catch my breath, much less work on this story. It certainly never leaves my active to-do list, but with trips, photography assignments, family/friend obligations and exhaustion following all, it unfortunately finds its way onto the back-burner more often than desirable. Life slowed down a bit in September, though, and my muse was reinvigorated by the cooler temperatures and delicious inundation of pumpkin, and the story came alive again. I'm so happy I'm able to bring you a chapter this week of Halloween! I was determined to make it happen.

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch_ _Project_. I do own the latter on that antique media device known as VHS, though, and while I admit I never viewed the movie on DVD, I'll venture to say it's probably more effectual on tape, anyway. It's not supposed to have crystal clear picture and sharp sound, after all. I'll probably get the DVD someday because VCRs won't be around forever, but for the time being, it's wonderfully sentimental to view the movie the same way I did in 1999.

By the way, have you see the movie yourself, dear reader? If not, please do yourself the favor and take it in this Halloween season. Preferably with the lights off, the neighboring rooms devoid of distractive sound, and not in the presence of small children and their innocent, uncorrupted ears, please. This chapter does contain spoilers for _The Blair Witch_ _Project_, but you can still enjoy the movie with just as much suspense even if you do read this (and I hope you do, duh ^^;).

Enjoy, and thank you!

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 7

"Haunting Motives"

"Ash Ketchum, you are not leaving this house until you have something in your stomach!"

Delia had gone many, many years without having to deal with so much aggravation before seven o'clock in the morning. Ever since her eldest had ventured off on his own to capture and battle pokémon, left to get up and prepare for the day at his own discretion, Delia's mornings had been relatively quiet, pleasant, unhurried. Then Riley was born, and all at once her sunrises were again a whirlwind of cries and feedings and clean-ups she hadn't experienced since she was twenty. She honestly couldn't remember the last peaceful morning she'd had in six months.

But the incessant demands of raising an infant were one thing. Dealing with a stubborn, distraught teenager was another.

Between the chaos of the day before, her husband getting in and out of bed at one point during the night, and Riley's usual fussy, predawn feeding, Delia's night hadn't been the most refreshing. In fact, it was one of the worst she'd had in weeks. As she stumbled down the stairs bleary-eyed and discombobulated, the last thing she'd expected to encounter was Ash scrambling about the ground floor like a lunatic, trying desperately to get stuff together as if he was late in catching an impatiently-waiting school bus.

After a few much-needed seconds to clear her sleepy brain, it all made sense why her son was up and about even before Jay was dressed for work. Ash had attested countless times that the one and only thing that would get him out of bed before sunrise, _ever_, was pokémon…and even _that_ only applied to particular days. The situation he was harshly dealt the day before certainly pertained, and instantly, Delia's motherly commiseration kicked in.

It became quite clear, however, that the last thing Ash was seeking at the moment was sympathy. He just wanted out of the house. Getting a word in edgewise to her overwrought child during his maniacal preparation was futile, as Ash seemed to zip out of a room just as soon as Delia followed him in. In his hustle to grab belongings, Delia was quickly able to determine that Ash's sanity was not completely in control. His frantic demeanor spoke louder than the noncommittal grunts of response her gentle questions elicited.

Ash couldn't possibly have been up for long. Considering the racket he was currently making, no way would she have slept through it. It didn't look like he got much rest, either. Heavy bags adorned the bases of his eyes and his hair was a terribly uncombed mess, and Delia could have sworn it looked as though he slept in the clothes he was wearing. To put it bluntly, the kid looked like hell. Enough so that she knew she had to step in to calm him down and make sure he was okay before he set out to search for Pikachu. She was going to need luck to do it, though. Because Ash wasn't listening to a word she said.

It was when he found his way into the kitchen and began tearing cabinets open that Delia, meekly, asked the basic question of what he'd had for breakfast. A quick scan showed no dirty dishes or open boxes of cereal, and if Ash was too impatient to even tie his shoelaces (Delia cringed every time he bolted out of a room, waiting for the inevitable trip and fall), there was no way he would have tidied up the kitchen after a hasty breakfast.

Lo and behold, he'd spoken, but it wasn't the answer Delia wanted: "Nothing. Taking it with me."

And that's when Delia's attitude promptly shifted from curious onlooker to unyielding parent, because while she had no qualms about Ash going out so early to look for Pikachu, there was absolutely no way he was going to do so on an empty stomach—_especially_ after she recalled dumping most of his dinner into the trash or refrigerator containers. Unfortunately, Ash did not share her concern about his lack of sustenance, instead insisting that the two small granola bars he took from the snack drawer would hold him over—_if_ he felt like eating. And that's when the upheaval ensued.

"You're _at least_ having a glass of milk or juice or something!" Delia persisted, standing over Ash as he sat at the base of the stairs, finally attending to his shoelaces.

"I said I don't need anything," he replied firmly, never regarding her as he hopped up and nearly crashed into his hovering mother. He swept his backpack over his shoulder and slipped past Delia determinedly, but before he could even reach out for the doorknob, he was yanked back with enough unexpected force that he let out a surprised yelp.

"I didn't ask you if you _needed_ anything, I'm telling you that you _have_ to eat or drink something before you leave," she reiterated, her sharp tone begrudgingly holding his attention.

Her face then softened, as did her grip on his arm. "Honey, I'm worried about you. You barely ate a thing yesterday. You can't do that again today—you're going to get sick. I know you're upset and you want to get out of here, but please…I can't let you go without making sure you're up for it."

Breathing restlessly, Ash's bloodshot eyes bore into her own afflicted ones. Buried underneath his goaded look, not unnoticed by his mother, was a deeper, more powerful guise of panic and exhaustion. Her heart clenching at the sight, she tenderly stroked the side of his face, hopeful that her consolation would win over Ash's blind tenacity.

"How about some hot cocoa, baby?"

Stealing a fidgety glance at the patio doors and the bright, beckoning morning, Ash didn't reply.

"It's cold out there. It'll fill you up and warm your stomach."

Finally, he exhaled deeply. "Only if I can take it with me," he answered quietly. He quickly looked back at her. "Please?"

Delia had hoped that sitting him down for some cocoa would have detained him for at least a good ten minutes, enough to let him take it easy and clear his disordered head, but by the look she was getting, she had to settle for this. Nodding, she swiftly made her way to the kitchen to prepare a travel mug for him.

Ironically, as soon as she was gone, Ash's stomach clenched painfully in hunger, nearly taking him by surprise. Right then, the thought of the hot, filling drink was covertly more appealing, but at the same time served to heighten his impatience. Cocoa only took a few minutes to make, but for Ash, it was a few minutes too many. After a full twenty-four hours without his precious companion, and especially after the discouraging incident with Jay the previous night, Ash felt like he was going to explode out of his skin if he didn't get out there soon.

What surprised him the most was the fact that he had actually been able to sleep. Though he recalled a few vague dreams, Ash's deep, coma-like slumber had carried him into early dawn. When he awoke, he'd found himself splayed on the couch still in the clothes he'd thrown messily on the night before. His shoes had been removed, however, and a blanket had been laid generously over him. His father had obviously taken great care to make sure he'd remained comfortable and asleep, but Ash considered it for no more than a moment as he remembered what he needed to undertake. Seeing that he'd luckily been granted a decent day for his search, he'd wasted no time in dashing around the house to assemble what he needed for his mission.

Food, for the first time ever it seemed, was merely an afterthought.

"Ash?"

Ash started at the soft, cautious voice that suddenly came floating from atop the stairs. There, still dressed in her rumpled pajamas, was Misty, fixing him an astonished look.

"Are you going out already?" she asked.

Ash bit his lip as her tone generated a sudden burst of guilt. It wasn't that he didn't want his friends' help or company, but in the hustle of his unsystematic morning, they honestly hadn't lingered long in his mind. He was the only one up at the time, and whether he didn't have the heart to awaken anyone else or didn't believe he had the time to do so, he'd unconsciously made the decision to prepare and head out alone.

"Yeah, I was," he replied. "I'm waiting for Mom to make me some cocoa; then I'm going."

"I want to come with you," she declared.

"Misty—" the dispute came rolling off his tongue impulsively.

"Don't go anywhere," she ordered, backing up toward her room as she kept her gaze firmly on him. "I'll just be a few minutes; I'm just gonna get dressed."

She disappeared before he had a chance to further argue, but Ash figured the argument would have been useless, anyway. Come to think of it, why _did_ he want to argue? Of course he wanted Misty with him; of course he wanted her help! It was just the _waiting_, he realized and reassured himself—the unbearable anxiety that was stupidly overriding his common sense. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he bid himself imperatively to chill. Just a few more minutes, just a few more minutes...

Mere seconds after she fled to get ready, Jay emerged from his bedroom and descended the stairs. Ash's nerves instantly tensed at the sight of him. Undoubtedly, he was the last person Ash wanted to run into that morning, as he was unsure if bad vibes were still brewing between them. But despite the fracas only hours before, a kindly smile brightened Jay's face as soon as he spotted Ash.

"Hey," he greeted airily. Before Ash could respond, Jay plopped a hand on his head, making the boy shy away slightly. "You sleep good, there?"

"Uh, yeah," Ash mumbled, his chin dipping towards his chest under the weight of his dad's hand until he took it away. Seeing him all decked out in his typical work clothes reminded Ash of how early it actually was. It was a rare event for him to rise before Jay.

"Sorry I didn't bring you up to your bed," Jay apologized. He gave him a crooked smile. "Gettin' just a tad too heavy for me now."

"It's fine. I slept okay."

"Good. You needed it."

_What I need is to get out of here_, Ash sighed to himself. He craned his head around Jay's frame and peered toward the kitchen, seeking out Delia and the blasted cocoa that was taking way too long.

"Where are you going to look today?" Jay asked.

Ash held back a perturbed huff. He didn't want to talk about his plans, he wanted to _carry out_ his plans. Still, seeing as how his cocoa was obviously not ready and his dad wouldn't let his inquiry go unanswered, he obliged, "Same places as yesterday, I guess. Places I couldn't get to with the rain. And I'm gonna knock on the neighbors' doors, too—all over. See if anyone found him yesterday and took him in to get 'im out of the rain."

In the pandemonium of the day before, it was something Ash hadn't factored into the equation; now, the chance of some kind stranger graciously taking in a lost and hopeless pikachu had reinvigorated his thinning optimism.

But he didn't get the "_good idea, son_," or the "_good luck_" he thought Jay would have automatically returned. Instead, his father paused, seeming to reflect intensely upon his itinerary. Ash could have sworn there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. "All right," he said lightly. Then, to Ash's shock, he bent over and gave him a kiss on the head, none too concise, either. "Be careful, okay, buddy?"

For an instant, Ash could only gape at his dad for the unusual overly-affectionate gesture. "I—I will," he faltered.

"You let your mom know what your plans are. Keep her in the loop, all right? Don't have her worrying, not knowing where you are."

Ash nodded. "Okay."

"When you find Pikachu, give me a call right away?"

"Sure thing."

Another look, still tinted with that ambiguous shade of defeat, and another heavy, fond hand placed upon his head. This time, Ash didn't duck away. With one last gentle tousle, Jay smiled and ambled into the kitchen. Ash watched him as he went, baffled by his father's behavior. Why the long faces, the tenderness, the excessively benign tone? Was Jay trying to make up for last night? Did he pity him for his situation?

Did he not have faith in Ash's endeavor?

Ash expelled the doubt from his mind swiftly. It didn't matter what other people thought, anyhow. He was going to find Pikachu today. He had that promising new plan to hold on to, after all. Thinking about it again retriggered his restlessness.

"Mom!" he shouted edgily. "Where's my cocoa? C'mon!"

"It's coming!" she called back, and Ash could hear the clanking of a pan on the stove. His eyes widened. Wait—had she not _started_ the cocoa yet? No, no—that couldn't be it. She wouldn't have done that to him. "It's still warming up! Just another minute!"

"Hurry _up_," he whined. Ash clenched his jaw as soon as he heard how childishly shrill that came out. But seriously, since when did it take so long to heat up cocoa?

"Ash."

His head jerked up as Misty's voice took him by surprise a second time. She was perched in same spot at the landing but this time, thankfully, she was dressed, looking alert and ready to go.

"Brock's up. He's coming, too."

Ash threw his hands up. "Is he ready?" he cried.

"He's getting ready right now."

"Ugh!"

"I told him to hurry!" Misty assured.

But that didn't help mollify Ash. His intolerance was climaxing now. It was just one delay after another after another. True, the total duration of the setback had been less than ten minutes, but for Ash, it felt like an eternity. It was starting to almost seem like they _wanted_ to stall him. And here he was, just allowing it to happen, bending to all their requests for him to hold up. What was he doing? He needed to find Pikachu!

"No! That's it!" he finally exclaimed. "I'm going! I'm not waiting any longer!"

He marched for the front door, ignoring Misty's prompt cry for him to wait. _Sorry, Misty_, he thought rather unapologetically, there would be no more waiting. They'd have to catch up. Or leave him alone to do this himself. If they weren't going to recognize the urgency of this, then he didn't need the extra burden of their indifference.

But it didn't take long for him to be stopped again—no more than a few seconds, and no further than his front stoop. The sight before Ash arrested him harshly in his tracks, so much that even when the chase-giving Misty crashed right into him from behind, his feet barely displaced an inch.

"_Ash_!" she shrieked, beyond irritated not only by his sudden departure but by his even more sudden halt. "What the hell are you—"

And that's when she saw what he did. It could have been easy to dismiss; in an artistically-manicured yard such as the Ketchums', one might have thought it was purposely, if oddly, sited. But for the two round-eyed kids, it was something glaringly out-of-place. As well as hauntingly familiar—they instantly identified what it was, or rather, what it was supposed to be.

Planted across the front walkway in a rather scrupulously-fashioned triangle were three neat, brimming piles of stones.

Piles of stones that looked exactly like the grave markings from the primitive burial ground in _The Blair Witch Project_.

Piles of stones eerily akin to the three stacks found outside the unlucky filmmakers' tent one morning. Those had been a surprise—a bombshell of an omen of sinister things to come. An unwelcomed gift from a sardonic witch looking for a little cruel fun before the imminent hunt.

He might have been slow on the uptake at times—and that was an underestimation, sorry to say for the teenager. But this time around, it wasn't difficult for that connection to form. It happened so fast and fluently, in fact, that the chill that ran up Ash's spine overrode any vexation he might have felt from this additional interruption.

He could hear Misty panting behind him; whether out of breath from her short pursuit or out of pure alarm, he couldn't tell.

"What is that?" she asked tensely.

Ash stared at the rocks, his eyes roaming from one precise mound to the next, trying to clear his mind enough to make sense of what he was beholding. They looked so harmless laying there amidst the dew-kissed lawn, the sun gleaming off the smooth edges of the rounder stones, but all they brought upon him was an engulfing swell of dread.

"Where did those come from?" Misty demanded, the sharp crescendo in her tone matching his mounting distress.

"I don't know," he answered.

It surely was a good question. He didn't recall seeing them when he tried sneaking out of the house hours before. Certainly, he would have noticed them—hell, he would have _tripped_ _over_ them, considering where they were settled! They weren't exactly in an inconspicuous spot, and he was too infamous for his clumsiness. That recipe alone would have made the stumble inevitable.

_Just like the rocks the witch left outside the tent_… he thought, and he was positive the same association was being made in his all-too-versed-in-things-Blair-Witch girlfriend's mind.

"_Ash_!" Misty's feverish snap let him know that wasn't the response she was hoping for. Oh yeah, she was definitely making the correlation. No doubt about it.

"I don't _know_!" he cried, turning to her. "I don't know where they came from! They weren't here last night!"

"So then when did they show up?" she hollered, as if he knew all the answers. The whites of her eyes flaring, it was the most frightened he'd seen her since he'd shined the camcorder light in her face two nights back in the tent. "Ash, where did those come from?"

Ash's palms flew to his face. Her alarm combined with his disorientation was too overwhelming. His fingers parted over his eyes, and he once again directed his focus on the piles, surveying them, trying desperately to confirm to himself with _absolute_ certitude that they were not there when he'd left the house for his failed twilight mission.

"Misty...I didn't see these last night."

"Neither did I!"

"No, I mean… I was out here. Later on. And I didn't—they weren't here."

"When, later on?"

"Like midnight," he said, meeting her gaze. Her ashen face lit up in mild surprise. "I—I was out here then…and I didn't see them."

"Are you sure?" she implored, completely bypassing asking why he was wandering around his front yard at that hour of the night.

"Yes!" he insisted, fairly confident in his inference. "I'm sure! I _know _I would have seen them. I walked right down there!"

"Well, how long were you out here?"

"Not long at all," he replied. "Just a few minutes, and then Dad came out to get me, and..."

Ash's account was cut short as his heart took a staggering leap in his chest. Suddenly, things made sense. They made _too_ much sense. Of course—_of course_! How stupid of him to have taken this long to figure it out! As the insight became clearer, his short-lived fright was replaced with a sensation of anger so swift and so powerful it made every nerve in his limbs quiver. Furiously, he pushed past Misty, causing her to yelp and jump aside, and stormed into the house.

"DAD!" he roared.

Jay came rushing out of the kitchen at his son's heated shout, Delia not far behind. "What, what? What is it?" he asked anxiously.

"How could you?" Ash spat.

Taken aback by the volume of Ash's voice and the livid glare that accompanied it, Jay blinked a few times in flustered confusion. "How could I what?" he sputtered.

"Do that!"

"Do _what_?"

"You know what!" Ash snarled.

His eyes wide with stupefaction, Jay could only throw his arms up into the air in a helpless shrug. "What are you talking about?" he demanded desperately. When he'd heard Ash's initial cry, his first thought was that Pikachu had been found. Running in to find his son practically doubled over in rage, his eyes narrowed with unchecked contempt and his face red as a tomato, and all at _him_, was startling, to say the least.

"What you did last night!" charged Ash vaguely again. Only this time, the boy pointed fiercely to the front door as he did so. Jay hesitated none in taking the clue and hurried past Ash to see just what the hell he'd allegedly done wrong.

Misty had been standing in the entranceway, pale, silent, and unsettled, but she quickly cleared a path for him to make the discovery on his own. Much like the kids, Jay noticed right away the source of the hubbub. He frowned as he looked down at the mysterious stone piles, questions of his own immediately springing to his head. It was clear to him, too, what they were intended to emulate, but that was just about all he knew about them.

Except, of course, that he had nothing to do with them being there.

"Ash," he started.

"Dad, how could you do that?"

Jay spun around and tramped back into the house. "Ash, I didn't do that!"

Maybe he wasn't exactly expecting Ash to calm down after hearing this, because there was still the slightly eerie situation as to where the piles came from. But he at least figured it would clear the air and put a stop to this silly impugnation his son was hurling at him.

What he got instead was the complete opposite.

"Yes, you did!" The counterclaim only seemed to have made Ash madder, and the flabbergasted father nearly staggered back when his seething son came striding challengingly forward. "I get it now! When you found me leaving the house! You weren't down here because you heard me get up! You were coming down to put these stupid rocks out on the lawn!"

"Ash, no—" Jay tried to interrupt.

"That's why you wanted me to come in! Why you made sure I fell asleep before you left!" Ash continued hysterically, his voice peaking with each adjunct to this elaborate indictment. "You just didn't want me to see you putting them out. You didn't want me to catch you trying to mess around with our movie again!"

"ASH!" Jay boomed, trying to drown out Ash's tirade. But even his harsh tone didn't daunt his son's insurgent momentum.

"It's not funny!" the boy exclaimed, throwing his clenched, white-knuckled fists down. His developing voice cracked with an emergence of emotion, and for a second Jay half-expected him to burst into tears. "We're not even _doing_ the movie anymore! And even if we were, how could you do that to me when Pikachu is missing?"

"Would you _listen to me_—!" tried Jay again, his patience quickly beginning to wane. He could feel his blood pressure spike with every futile attempt at getting a word in to his out-of-control son.

"It's not funny anymore!"

"ASH, SHUT UP!"

The teen's head whipped back at the thunderous outburst, instantly silenced. For a second, he just stood there, looking more indignant than chastised at the order. Jay, relieved but well past provoked now, was about to capitalize off the break, but Ash was too quick to recover. Aiming a dark, stanch scowl at Jay, Ash arched his shoulders and adjusted his backpack.

"I'm going to look for Pikachu," he growled conclusively, trudging toward the front door. "Come on, Misty."

Jay was dumbfounded enough to let him pass by, but before Ash could drag the disoriented Misty out into the yard, he managed to find his tongue.

"Hey, hey, hey—hold it right there!"

Ash whirled to face him, that same bold, toxic look sullying his young face. Jay was completely floored by his stance. Though willing to walk out on the altercation, Ash clearly wasn't about to recant his accusation, either.

"That's it?" Jay scoffed. "You're just gonna walk away, after that?"

Ash blew out noisily from his nose and continued to glower.

"Oh, no you don't," Jay warned, pointing a finger directly at his flushed son. "You'd better be careful who you chuck accusations at, kid. No way in hell are you going to do that to me and just walk out that door."

"I don't have time for this anymore!" Ash spat. "I need to go out to look for Pikachu."

Trying hard to suppress his percolating temper, Jay shook his head and wagged the jutted finger. "No, no. We're settling this before you go anywhere.

"I do not appreciate being accused of something I didn't do," he lectured as evenly as he could. Ash listened, still glaring. "And I don't appreciate you not believing me when I tell you I had nothing to do with those rocks sitting out there. That was completely uncalled for, and you know it. So you're going to accept that, and you're going to apologize to me, and then you can go out and look for Pikachu."

"Why should I?" Another sour reply Jay had not anticipated.

"Why _should you_?" he echoed incredulously. "For starters, you have _no_ proof! Unless you have proof to back yourself up, you do not go around accusing people of doing things!"

"I have proof!" Ash attested.

Jay made a face. "Oh, yeah? And what is that—that this just looks like something I'd do, so that automatically means I did it?"

"Yes!"

"And why would I do that to you, huh?" Jay demanded, his voice rattling off the walls of the tiny house. "Why?"

"Because you're an asshole!"

Jay barely had time to react. As soon as the cutting, impassioned remark shot through Ash's teeth, the boy hightailed—at the same time Delia shrieked "JAY, STOP!" as loudly as she could probably manage. Perhaps he was about to instinctively go after the kid and she realized it before he even did. Whatever the case, Jay found himself forcibly checked at her piercing command, watching his son flee almost powerlessly.

Misty, stunned and still idling in the doorway, could only gape at the two adults.

"Misty, go—be with him," Delia immediately told her.

It took but a second for Jay to rebound. "No!" he objected, his ire this time aimed at the shaken girl. "No! You go and bring him back!"

Conflicted with the two diverse demands being thrown at her, Misty's eyes darted fitfully between Delia and Jay. "Uh…"

"No, she won't!" Delia snapped at her husband. It was clear who was now taking control of this situation, and Jay could only reel back. When Delia looked back at Misty, her voice softened but still rang firm. "Misty, it's okay. Go help Ash look for Pikachu."

Misty appeared more than ready to comply, but suddenly her attention was drawn up the stairs. Barreling down noisily came Brock, looking about as discombobulated as the rest of them. He'd obviously rushed, as his arms weren't even completely through his pull-over sweatshirt, but he didn't even have a second to solicit details about the upheaval.

"Brock, c'mon!" Misty bid frantically, grabbing his hand. "Let's go."

"Wuh-wait! Misty! I, uh—a-all right!" he stammered as she hauled him out into the sunshine.

And just like that, the house was purged of commotion, save for the dense, awkward wake of what had just transpired. Jay, winded, could only gape at the front door, trying to compose himself and make sense of the vicious storm that had just blown through his living room.

Despite his incensed fixation, he could feel his wife's eyes burning into his back. Sure enough: "Jay," she said, slicing through the intense hush, "calm down."

Aghast, Jay turned to her. "Are you kidding me?" he bellowed. He was already pissed that she'd managed to detain him and let Ash get away; being told to settle as if _he_ were the perpetrator was the last thing he would take hearing. "You're telling _me_ to calm down? After the stunt your son just pulled, you want _me _to calm down?"

"He's not in his right mind right now," Delia said coolly, standing firm, unaffected by her husband's red-faced fury.

"I don't care what state of mind he's in! He has no right to talk to me like that!"

"Jay? Stop yelling and calm down," she warned.

"No! I am _not_ going to calm down!" he shouted mulishly and, in his view, justly.

Delia's glare deepened as her levelness finally splintered. "Yes, you are! You're going to take deep breaths and count to ten or twenty or a hundred or whatever it is you need to do, and you're going to _back off_. Whether you like it or not!"

With that, she turned and forged into the kitchen, all but terminating the issue. Jay faltered for a second, stunned, then stormed in after her, the floorboards of the house quaking under his feet. Like he was going to allow it to end just like that! It was one thing to be so unfairly defamed by his son, but to let his too-tolerant, peace-making wife force him to dismiss the umbrage he was entitled to was _completely_ unacceptable.

"I don't understand how you can just expect me to let him get away with all of that," he snarled. In the back of his mind, he knew it would be favorable to his defense to try to get a hold of himself, lower his voice, and take on this discord maturely. But dammit, if his burning resentment wasn't going to let that happen _at all_.

Delia began to clear some items off the counter. "Let it go, Jay. I mean it."

"Did you hear what he accused me of?" Jay pointed angrily towards the direction in which Ash had taken off.

"Jay..."

"What he _called me_?"

"Jacey!" she turned and ground out harshly. "_Let. It. Go_!"

The potency of her order finally managed to quiet Jay. An icy staring contest commenced, Jay's infuriation and Delia's unyielding resolve to rein him in curdling in the small gap between them.

"I'm really glad you're willing to brush off what just happened _so easily_," Jay finally said bitterly.

"He didn't mean it," she reasoned, digging in.

"Just because he didn't mean it doesn't erase the fact that he _did it_!"

"Jay," she sighed, "any other day, I wouldn't tolerate it any less than you would. But you have to give him a pass today. He's going through something terrible right now and he needs your support."

Jay huffed. "Well, he's going about it in a very bad way, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but you have to get a hold of yourself," Delia reiterated. "You have to calm down. You're the _adult_."

"Oh, I see. So just because I'm the adult, it's okay for me to screamed and cursed at, but not speak up for myself? I don't really think that's fair."

"Too bad," she replied bluntly. "Get over it and focus on doing the right thing now."

"Which is?"

"Helping him out instead of being a bully."

A bully? Is _that_ what he was? Jay bristled. Since when did defending his reputation and being a father to his rage-blinded son make him a _bully_?

"Fine. Fine. Okay," he shrugged scathingly. "I'll just get over the fact that my son accused me of playing a cruel and nasty joke in the midst of his crisis like I'm some kind of heartless bastard. Or _asshole_, to quote him. No problem."

"You know what, Jay?" Delia said. His derisiveness was only grating her more. "I'm assuming those rocks or whatever it is out there has something to do with that awful movie, right? Right? Well, if that's the case, then quite frankly I don't blame him for thinking what he did."

Jay blinked at her, astonished at the statement, before sneering. "Thanks a lot, Delia."

"Well, it's true!" she insisted, planting her hands on her hips. "After all the tricks you pulled on those poor children the past few days, this _does_ look like something right up your alley!"

Jay's comeback was sucked right back down his throat. Despite his cresting resentment, he wasn't too far gone to refute her point. And she wasn't even including the confidential prank at the Old Simmons Place! It would be explicable for an outsider to suggest he was indeed the culprit as well, given the plenteous past evidence, but this was his _family_. This was his son, who knew better. He was hotheaded and worked up for sure, but it was still crazy for Ash to think that Jay would ever, _ever_ do something so insensitive. Delia, too.

"Well, you can and go and believe whatever you want," he frowned. "I didn't do it." It sounded churlish, but it was the truth, and he wasn't going to let any doubt in that remain.

"I didn't say you did."

"You're still taking Ash's side, though! How could you do that? How could you defend him for being so disrespectful to me?"

"I'm not taking his side!" she argued, harmonizing the mounting volume of his outbursts. "I just said I understand where he's coming from! You shouldn't be so angry because you shouldn't be _surprised_, Jay! You brought this upon yourself; you can't deny that!"

"I brought nothing upon myself!" Jay fumed.

"You created this reputation for yourself and now you're mad it's being thrown back at you!"

Jay scrubbed a hand down his face and shook his head. "It's not like that _at all_…" he grumbled.

"If you hadn't started this stupid Blair Witch nonsense in the first place, we wouldn't even be dealing with this right now!"

That extra allegation made his head snap up. "Oh, that's great!" Jay narrowed his eyes. "So basically you're saying even though it's not my fault, it's _still_ my fault."

"That movie has brought nothing but—but…negativity to this house ever since you watched it!"

"What negativity? We were just having fun! It was just a bunch of stupid pranks and messing around!"

"Yes, until now, where apparently the pranks have started performing themselves!"

It was the way Delia had mordantly presented it which silenced Jay. Pranks performing themselves…well, how utterly absurd that was. Obviously, _someone_ was the culprit. Someone cruel enough or stupid enough to throw their hat into the ring at exactly the wrong time. But that was just the thing…no one in the household could possibly fit either description. No one would dare tamper with Ash's very, very fragile psyche.

"Yeah, performing themselves," Jay snorted dismissively.

"Well, so who _did_ do it?" Delia asked the million-dollar question.

"Wouldn't I love to know."

"It wasn't me," she said defensively, needlessly.

"Never thought it was you, dearest. And apparently Ash didn't, either! Lucky you!"

Delia ignored the jab. "I can't believe it would be one of the kids. It'd be too unlike them."

"It wasn't one of them—I'd've seen it. Well, unless they did it after one-thirty!"

Delia paused at that remark, giving him a baffled look. "You were up until one-thirty?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Jay perked. He couldn't help a sardonic chuckle and a clap of his hands. "Yeah, if it wasn't for me, your son would've been wandering all over Pallet Town all hours of the night last night."

The stern edge was finally wiped entirely from his wife's features. "What?"

"Yup," Jay folded his arms. "Heard him get up a little after midnight. Caught him trying to leave the house to go look for Pikachu."

"Oh my God," Delia groaned, her forehead finding its way into her palm. "Is that what he was talking about just now? About you being up late to plot all this?"

"You mean _screaming_ about? Yes. So maybe you'll give me a break now for being a little riled up that my last seven hours entailed hauling myself out of bed after midnight to drag Ash back into the house, then staying up for an _hour_ more to make sure he got to sleep okay, and _then_ being violently blamed for something I absolutely had nothing to do with by the same kid just a few hours later."

Delia groaned again. Maybe her husband's infuriation was warranted, but at the same time he wasn't exactly famous for a slow-to-anger disposition. She didn't regret a single thing she'd done that morning to snuff his short fuse. Maybe she could have stepped in more in checking Ash's explosion, but Jay definitely had the greater capability of making things a lot uglier than they already were.

"Jay, look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry he's driving you crazy right now. But I don't take back what I said about you having to calm down and move on. It's over now."

"Oh, it's _far_ from over," Jay interrupted heatedly, to which Delia's heavy frown returned.

"Yes, it is—it's over! There's going to be no more fighting. We're going to get over all this nonsense and focus on finding Pikachu—and that means you, too! Forget about all of it and start helping out your little boy."

"Start helping out my little boy," Jay echoed, shaking his head. He looked down at his watch and threw his arms up in resignation. "I'm leaving for work in ten minutes! What am I supposed to do?"

Delia paused for a moment before her brow arched and an expectant look crept to her face. Jay just glared deeper. She had to be kidding. After all of that, _this_ is what she expected him to enlist in?

"Oh, God, what—now you're saying I shouldn't go to work?" he griped wearily.

His wife, who had so much to say just seconds ago, had no words to offer now. But the dip of her head and the persuasive tic of a smile she was suddenly giving him spoke loud enough. Jay drooped, feeling begrudgingly and bitterly swayed.

_Un-frigging-believable_, he grumbled to himself.

Despite their quarrel and her unabashed throw of support to Ash's corner, he couldn't help but allow that kittenish smile to soften away the edges of his irritation. _Allow_…it was more like her expression had taken his ire and dunked it in a bucket of warm, soapy potion called "_It's Time to Stop Being Mad Now_."

With a subtle lift of her shoulders, she just added a dash of "_You Know What You Need to Do_."

"Geez…" He took a deep breath and his hands fell to his sides with a slap. When it all boiled down to it, did he really have a choice? "All right. All right! I guess...I'm not going to work today." The concession didn't come out all that cheerfully.

Nonetheless, Delia's brown eyes crinkled. "That would be nice."

"Uh-huh," he surrendered, turning to head to his bedroom. "Terrific... Okay, well… I guess I'm going to go get changed and…head out there to help Ash look for Pikachu, then."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry," Delia said again, sincerely. Jay knew she meant it. Reluctantly—or maybe not so much—he accepted it, both from her as well as on behalf of Ash. He knew he needed to, and it didn't entirely have to do with her influence. He could not picture himself heading out to face Ash and offer his help without feeling somewhat vindicated. He still had his pride to maintain. All he could hope for now was that Ash received Jay's surprise appearance and truce kindly, and a repeat performance wasn't forthcoming. Because it went without question that he wouldn't fare well in tolerating it a second time, and Delia wouldn't be around to blow any crucial whistles.

As Jay ascended the stairs, two prominent goals were established in his head. One was that if Pikachu _was_ around and _could_ be found, he would be. The anxiety and unhappiness poisoning his family needed to end—immediately.

After that, he was going to find out just who did have the gall to execute the rock-pile hoax that, under different circumstances, Jay would have perceived as brilliant.

* * *

Jessie was so spectacularly over the moon she thought she was going to burst.

She had to contain herself, though. After everything that had happened so fabulously and flawlessly, blowing their cover now because she gave in to the strong urges to leap up and dance around in gleeful achievement would not be all that advantageous. Even resisting the desire to cackle out loud was proving to be torture. It would all have to wait till later, when they were back in the haven of that rickety, old, putrid house that had recently become their castle of pride.

But Jessie couldn't leave just yet, couldn't take her eyes off the Ketchum home. For that glorious moment, all she wanted to do was bask in the glowing residuum of her latest triumph. It was there, merely minutes ago, that she was finally awarded the luscious fruit of her labors. It wound up being worth it to get up before dawn, even on top of stumbling back to the house very late—how many hours had she slept, in all the anticipation—three, four? Except for the hideous black circles devastating her beautiful eyes, the sacrifice had paid off handsomely. For what she had just been bestowed was far more awesome than she could have asked for.

Her jaw aching from her colossal grin, she turned to James. "Was that not just the most marvelous thing ever?" she squealed dizzily.

Her partner, who was not coping as well with the lack of sleep, offered a bleary look. "But Jessie, I thought you wanted the twerp to be scared? He was more angry than anything…"

"It wasn't _exactly_ what I planned," Jessie admitted. "But I dare say this outcome was better!"

It would have been hilarious to see the three children wet their pants over her cleverly crafted work, certainly. But the screaming match that ensued in the otherwise nauseatingly peaceful household turned out to be a much more appealing result. Okay, so the twerp didn't fall for her intended ruse, but for him to condemn his insufferable old man of performing _her_ dirty deed? Jessie couldn't remember the last time she witnessed something so entertaining.

_Good for him!_ she'd thought vengefully of Jay, and it'd felt _so good_. Who cared if it'd meant cheering on the brat? Jessie had been starting to wonder whom she actually loathed more.

James looked unconvinced, though. "But…wasn't the whole point of this for the twerps to get so scared that something was haunting them that they'd be afraid to step foot outside and we'd be able to make a completely clean getaway?"

"Well, yes—"

"But they're out there searching for Pikachu now!" James suddenly cried in the high-pitch voice that only emerged when he was either elated or panicked. "The plan didn't work at all!"

Hearing him all but hail her scheme as a failure, Jessie prickled with defensiveness. "James, must you suck all the joy out of a wonderfully devastating domestic dispute?" she growled. "So what if it didn't work this time? That's why we have Plan B!"

"Plan B?" James blinked. "You have a plan B?"

"Of course I have a plan B!" Jessie crossed her arms, affronted. "When have you ever known me to go into something without a plan B?"

"All those times you thought Plan A was infallible?"

"Hey! It wasn't like I devised all those plans _myself_," she pointed out. "And what difference does it make now? I have a plan B for _this_." Arching her eyes smugly, she added, "And a few more after that, in fact. Who would've thought that silly little movie would provide so many brilliant ideas to use?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Of course you wouldn't," Jessie couldn't help but smirking. "You insisted on sneaking into that sappy poochyena movie instead."

James looked like he'd just been punched in the gut before his face fell. "That poor poochyena…"

"Right, that poor poochyena," Jessie rolled her eyes. Leave it to James to pass up a much talked-about horror flick for a theater packed with shrieking preschoolers. But that was all inconsequential now. When she'd seen the movie, it had merely been for leisure; she didn't know that years later it would serve as a valuable component in her winning move for Pikachu. It was just ironic the way life worked out.

It was time to get back to business. "Fine, so the plan didn't work the way it was supposed to." She beamed as she thought of what she had in store next. "But tonight's plan is _guaranteed_ to work. Those kids are going to absolutely freak out! Just you wait!"

Maybe it was just the dread of another late night, but James did not look to be onboard. "Jessie, it's not that I doubt your plan…but don't you think we should start thinking about...heading to headquarters with Pikachu? You said we were going to go today."

"I said that when I thought the rock piles were going to work. How was I to know the goody-goody twerp and his father apparently have trust issues?"

"But the longer we stay here, the less of a chance we have of escaping," James replied, the panicked pitch in his voice returning. "They could be at the house _right now_ searching! Meowth wouldn't stand a chance all by himself!"

Jessie's stomach did a small flip at that visualization. She did have to confess that she was placing a little too much blind faith in the assumption that the kids would not think—or dare—to check the dilapidated house. Then again, she really didn't think they'd be searching the area _at all_ this morning. Maybe she had expected too much from her scheme...maybe James was entitled to freak a touch. After all, this pastoral little locality wasn't all that big. If the kids really did believe Pikachu was findable, and nearby, what was stopping them from sooner or later searching what could be seen as a prime hideout...?

Now her heart began to pound. Great—James was getting to her, driving her nuts—just what she needed. Gritting her teeth, she chose not to respond, turning her attention back to the house and the delightful recollection of what had just happened there, and instantly felt the weight of the frightfully plausible likelihood lift.

But James was too serious and unrelenting to shut up just yet. "We should get back to the house and prepare to leave as soon as it gets dark," he advised quietly, though his tone made it sound more like a suggestion. "We could get far tonight."

Jessie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to tune him out.

"If we take turns sleeping now, one of us keeping watch for the twerps, we could have six, eight hours tonight to get to headquarters."

And it wouldn't even take that long, Jessie acknowledged. The base they'd determined would be best to hand Pikachu over and get the credit they had been pining for was situated just outside Celadon City. Before sunrise, their mission could be complete. It was tempting...not to mention _logical_…

"We could _get there_ tonight," James revised emphatically, as if realizing it the same moment she did. "There'd be no need for Plan B! We wouldn't need to spend another night in that awful house! We'd be home free, Jessie! We could get out of here—_with_ Pikachu! We'd _win_! Finally!"

Jessie didn't know why, but for some bizarre reason, she hated how convincing his argument was coming across. And she hated that she _did_ hate it. What in the world was wrong with her? A few days ago, if she'd known the superlative position they were in, being anywhere _but_ headquarters would have seemed incongruous. To have the burden and stress of their years-long mission, more difficult than it _ever_ should have ever been, eliminated from their lives and replaced ultimately with recognition and maybe even reward, should have easily superseded any other endeavor.

Of course, she didn't regret spending the day before and the past night in the abandoned house; the weather had been simply dreadful. But now? Honestly, what was her excuse now?

It was straightforward—at least in her mind, self-indulgent as it was. She could not shake the euphoric surge of fulfillment that had coursed through her veins when she witnessed the Ketchum household break down due to her deviously artful antics. Putting out the rock piles had been so much fun to begin with; to get that end product following what had been the most fluid (she _still_ couldn't believe how easy it had been!) heist of Pikachu, it was the cherry on top of a tantalizing sundae of victory.

She wanted more of it.

A tiny little part of her was glad that Plan A hadn't worked the way they entirely wanted it to...because then there wouldn't be a need for Plan B, which, she thought giddily, was even more dastardly perfect than A. Plan B could easily accomplish what they'd wanted A to—that being, mess with the twerps' heads enough to distract them from their retreat, as well as fool them into thinking that perhaps there was something not-so-entirely-fictional roaming the surrounding woods.

Another clash between the boy and his father would be gratifying, too. But just as helpful? Well, maybe not there.

"Jessie...?"

But could she convince James otherwise? He was really starting to be a black downpour on her dazzling parade. His prudence was just frustrating. He was too damn pessimistic, too worried. And yet, too...right. Jessie twirled a finger around a wisp of her windblown hair, still keeping her eyes off her partner. She could picture the grave, pleading look he was probably directing her way that second. What she needed was a moment to think. How was she going to sway James from his truly sound proposal to one that was going to result in the _same exact outcome_, only with a slight delay but a great deal more amusement?

"It's another day the boss thinks we haven't done our job."

_What's one more day?_ Jessie wanted to spit at him. But she couldn't bring herself to do that, because...James was right—_again_. Despite the hundreds, if not thousands, of open action items being carried out by Team Rocket agents daily, the boss always seemed to be keeping tabs on them, on their stagnant progress on capturing Pikachu. Getting him off their backs and on his good side was now, for all intents and purposes, a dream come true, not just a mission accomplished. Was it really wise to screw around with something they needed rather..._desperately_?

_It's not fair_, she thought petulantly as she felt rationale begrudgingly starting to win her over. Dammit, why could she never have her cake and eat it, too?

She couldn't put off James forever, but just as she was about to open her mouth to give some sort of deferring response, the two were distracted by sudden noise coming from the Ketchum home. Jessie and James impulsively shrank back as the front door swung open aggressively (my, this was one chafed family this morning!), and out stormed none other than the man of the hour himself.

In a rare display, Jessie grinned from ear to ear at the sight of the twerp's father. "Well, well, well, look who we have here! If it isn't Mr. Rock Planter!" She chuckled quietly. "Thank you ever so much for taking the heat for me! It was extremely generous of you..._loser_!"

In spite of leaving the house so purposefully, Jay held up when approaching the rock piles. Jessie bounced on the balls of her feet as he glared fiercely down at her work of art, loving every second of his visible perturbation.

"That's right, take a good look at my wondrous talent and creativity!" she gloated. "Notice the attention to detail, the meticulous selection of the perfect rocks! The thorough authenticity I strove to achieve! What is that, I sense? Jealousy? Oh, ho, ho, you only _wish_ you could've really been the one behind such an outstanding idea, don't you, you miserable—"

Her derisive crowing was unexpectedly cut short as Jay, with a single heated, calculated kick, sent one of the rock piles scattering across the front yard.

A flash of red streaked across Jessie's eyes. He didn't—_he didn't_! "Hey!" she exclaimed loudly. Losing all sense to insult, she leapt up from her crouch. "What the hell—?"

"_Jessie_!" James gasped in shock but acted promptly, latching onto her arm and yanking her back down behind the undergrowth.

"How dare he!" she ranted furiously, twisting against his hold in her sudden rage. Her head was coming dangerously close to popping out from the critical stockade of the bushes, and James' adrenaline pumped wildly.

"Jessie, please, please! Please be quiet! You're going to give us away!" he begged in a frantic whisper. This was bad—when Jessie got offended, especially by one of their enemies, it took an army and one additional person to sedate her. If he let go, he knew, she'd go marching right out to confront the man, their strategy and accomplishments be damned. His stomach overturned at the mental picture and he tightened his clasp on her arm, exhausting every ounce of energy to keep her from exposing them.

But Jessie didn't feel offended…she felt _assaulted_. "He's got some nerve!" Her voice trembled with ire and she continued to thrash in James' clutch, though more contained now. "He's got _some damn nerve_! How dare he destroy my work so barbarously! Who does he think he is?"

"Jessie, _please_!"

"I'll show him!"

"You already showed him!"

"I'll teach him for being so rude!"

One more fitful writhe, and James gave her arm an anxious jerk. "Jessie, PLEASE! You'll ruin everything!"

It was that shrill, dire warning that, at last, got through to her. She immediately hushed and James, slicked with sweat, felt her loosen. He cautiously relinquished his grip and took a lungful of air, relieved but still very alarmed at what had just taken place, how close Jessie had come to throwing away everything they'd gained in the last day.

Across the way, the twerp's father continued his angry, slapdash cleanup of the yard, using his feet to sweep all the rocks into one pile, off to the side and away from the walkway. Even the rocks he'd sent flying he gathered, his face hard and concentrative all the while. When he was finished, he took one more scornful look at the pile, then stomped to his car, slamming the door and taking off with just as much ferocity as he'd inflicted on Jessie's scrupulous arrangement.

Jessie, panting and scarlet in the face, watched all of this, seething but mercifully silent. James didn't speak, either. He was just thankful to see the man gone. Who knew what Jessie would have done if he hadn't been there to avert disaster? She'd looked about ready to kill; surely she had it in her to give in to her temper and go for Jay, and not necessarily with pokémon, either—more like fists, nails, and teeth. James shivered. All this over a pile of rocks...

They _really_ had to get back to the house. They _really_ had to get Pikachu into responsible hands. She was suddenly taking all of this too personally.

"Jessie..." he said inaudibly.

"I hate him," she declared.

"I know you do—"

She turned to him, her face dark with gravity. "Let's go back," she said. She watched her partner slump in relief. "We need to make sure the house is secure and the twerps don't find us."

"Right." James was all too ready to do just that.

"And we have a lot of work ahead of us, too," she added.

James' head ducked. "Work...?"

"Yes, work." Though scarcely following the breakdown, Jessie's smile returned, sardonic and brash. It was scary how fast she could regain control of herself and to what extent...but for Jessie, it was purely one of her most profound strengths. "You and Meowth are going to be helping me with some arts and crafts." A wily chortle rang in her throat, almost as if to herself, and James gulped.

"What kind of arts and crafts...?" he asked warily.

Jessie stood, brushing brown, wet leaves from her boots. "Didn't I mention that Plan B would be fun to make as well as fun to carry out?" she enlightened, happily disregarding all of James' arguments and suggestions leading up to that point.

James, unsurprisingly, looked a mix of frustrated and deflated, but it didn't concern Jessie one bit. They had Pikachu—and no, that was not going to change. Of that, she was supremely confident. He didn't have _anything_ to worry about.

But she still couldn't just leave it at that. Not after the callous offense she'd been dealt. If this truly was, as she assumed to be obvious, going to be their "last hurrah" with those vexing twerps, then _everything_ needed to shine in their favor, and that unquestionably included upholding her dignity—something they had threatened to mangle too many times to be deemed forgivable.

Well, Jessie didn't forgive, anyway. She got back.

In just a day, she was going to have her self-respect decisively restored, Pikachu in her possession, and reason for never again having to deal with those rotten children and their passion for blasting them painfully into oblivion.

Jessie tilted her head back, took a long gander at the light blue sky above, and let the emotion fully wash over her.

For the first time in what seemed an agonizing eternity, she could openly say life was good.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Trick or treat! :) Comments and constructive criticism are sweet delights, but hey, if you can somehow send _real_ candy through the review button...well, I wouldn't turn that down, either. ;)

Have a Happy Halloween, everyone! Hope the Great Pumpkin is good to you!


	8. Filtered Reality

"_It's not quite reality. It's like a totally filtered reality. It's like you can pretend everything's not quite the way it is."_

- Josh, _The Blair Witch Project_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project_ or a calendar that magically slows down the days and prevents these ridiculously long intervals between updates.

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 8

"Filtered Reality"

No matter how fast they walked, Ash always seemed to be a hundred or two yards ahead of them. He had a real habit of pulling this stunt in hectic situations, they'd come to discover the hard way. If pokémon training never panned out, he could definitely have a fall-back future as a professional speed-walker.

After he'd fled from the house, the boy proceeded to take his flustered friends on quite the helter-skelter tour of the neighborhood. With Ash slaloming wildly down streets and across properties, around houses, trees, and fences, it had been hard to keep him within sight. But through it all, they'd certainly been able to track his voice. Ash's shouts for Pikachu were crisp and strident, so much so that Misty and Brock, when finally joining in, had even ceased their own calls; Ash was doing fine enough for the three of them.

At present, they found themselves skimming the outer edge of the woods, travelling down a relatively main road. The two hung back—though not entirely intentionally. Their voices had muted, but they remained vigilant. It was a little difficult to see clearly; the low-laying sun was casting directly into their eyes. The ground was still soggy from the previous day's deluge, and Misty's sneakers were coated with sticky fragments of dead leaves like papier-mâché. She was also _finally_ warming up. Because of Ash's kamikaze departure, she hadn't had time to grab her jacket. Brock insisted on giving her his sweatshirt, and now he was the one presumably cold, the long-sleeved henley he was donning no match for the nippy autumn air. Misty thought so, at least. Because if Brock was cold, he gallantly wasn't admitting it.

In fact, Brock wasn't saying much of anything. He had been calling for Pikachu, but when he ceased that, he became totally quiet. He hadn't even grilled for particulars on what had happened between Ash and Jay. Impulsively, Misty had given him the bare-bone run-down, but it came in between bursts of calls for Pikachu and panting from trying to keep up with Ash. He must not have cared for any embellishment. Ash was more volatile than they had ever seen him, so perhaps a flare-up with his equally excitable father wasn't so much an unprecedented incident.

However, Misty was desperate for dialogue. She was still upset and high-strung from witnessing Ash go ballistic and her heart still hadn't calmed, no thanks in part to their hasty negotiation of the Pallet side streets. Not to mention the fact that she couldn't, no matter how foolish she felt or how hard she tried, erase the image of the mysterious rock piles from her mind's eye. It was all too much to process at once, and her composure was becoming difficult to maintain. Things were either collapsing around her or sweeping her into tailspins of overwhelming confusion. Shouldering it all silently and alone was starting to take its toll. None of this was about her, certainly, but she needed to talk it out with someone, and Ash was obviously not going to be the one to currently satisfy that.

She hadn't really held a real exchange with Ash since that rainy morning on the couch.

Brock's face was set stoically, but there was just enough of a meditative crease in his brow to reveal that he, too, wasn't all that untroubled. It was clear he was consumed with a cluster of thoughts, and Misty craved to know what they were.

"What are you thinking about?" she blurted.

He wasn't startled at her reticent voice breaking the silence; his eyes never strayed from their straight course and there wasn't the slightest hitch in his step. In fact, his expression didn't alter much, but Misty was studying him too intensely, too desperately, to not notice the subtle pinch of the line of his lips.

"…Nothing."

The delayed response was a lie, but Misty wasn't riled. It was frustrating, though. Whatever it was that was plaguing his mind was something he was hesitant to share with her. It was no secret she was treading on a mentally shaky foundation, but that didn't mean Brock had to be fragile with her. There was no need for shrouded thoughts in this terrible affair—especially between the two of them.

So she decided to tackle it directly. She folded her arms and turned her head away as she asked warily, "Do you think we're going to find Pikachu?"

Again, he didn't reply right away, and Misty wondered what lengths she'd have to go to to drag answers out of him. It soon dawned on her, though, that odds were he was just thinking carefully before each response. Gulping down her edginess, she focused her attention forward, where, dozens of yards away, the colorful blur that was Ash was still paving the way determinedly.

"Not like this we won't."

Her eyes widened as her head swung back to stare down the older teen. Such an abrupt, honest answer, one delivered with an undeniably bleak tone. Her heart started to pump faster, almost in defiance.

"What do you mean?"

Brock released a loud huff. "I mean we aren't going to find Pikachu this way. Running around all over Pallet Town, searching every square inch. It's crazy. Next we'll be looking under rocks."

Her speechlessness must have been a dead give-away of her alarm at his attitude, because again he sighed—only this time it was out of sadness, not cynicism.

"We did all this yesterday," he explained. "We looked in all the same places. If Pikachu was anywhere, we would have found him by now."

Misty vacillated, trying to formulate what to say to balance out his painfully credible analysis. "He could still be _some_where..."

"No," Brock shook his head. He still hadn't met her penetrating gaze as they walked steadily on. "I don't think so. Nowhere around here, at least. Look at how far we are from the house. It was so bad yesterday—you know Pikachu wouldn't have wandered off in that. Why would he? Why would he come all the way out here in that awful weather?"

"I don't know," Misty answered quietly. "I guess he wouldn't..."

"No, he wouldn't." Brock took yet another very audible, deep breath, which really unsettled Misty. He sounded so flustered. She'd wanted to know what he felt, and now that she found out—like a swift blow to the head—it hardly made things better. It was reassurance she'd naively sought, and receiving the opposite did nothing to soothe her fidgety nerves.

"I'm afraid we're wasting our time," he said somberly.

That conclusion made Misty shudder. Wasting their time? What did he mean by _that_? Brock couldn't possibly be indicating that their search was useless, that it was better off terminated. No—no, of course he wasn't! He knew the importance of finding Pikachu—not just for the mouse's sake, of course, but for Ash's. How in the world would he even remotely entertain the thought of giving up on trying to find one of the most valued members of their pokémon team—and his best friend's dearly-loved companion? That wasn't Brock at all.

But it still didn't expunge what he'd just said. Was he just speaking mindlessly, letting his anxious feelings draw out words he didn't mean? The only time gibberish ever hailed from Brock was when an attractive female was in the vicinity. Otherwise, everything he relayed stemmed from sound consideration and practicality—traits inherent of him, cultivated by years of dealing with younger kids.

It was that consistency of his nature that truly frightened Misty that, indeed, there was legality to be found in his words.

"So...how are we gonna find him, then?" she tested apprehensively.

One thing she hadn't anticipated from that follow-up was Brock coming to a sudden halt. Misty was no match for her pace, uncontrollably flying on past him a few steps. She managed to catch herself gracelessly and skid to a stop, but her unease conversely went haywire. Her head yo-yoed between Brock and Ash, her heart racing in panic at her boyfriend's retreating form up the road. They were going to lose him for good now.

"I don't know, Misty," Brock said, seeming totally unconcerned about the massive expanse Ash was going to put between them as a result of his sojourn. "I..." He glanced off to the distance, gnawing at his bottom lip.

The cagey snag in his voice promptly redirected Misty's focus. "What?"

"...I'm not so sure we _are_ going to find him," he finished sadly, barely above a whisper.

Brock's broadside grim prediction was like a fiery projectile through Misty's gut.

"What?" The sound the escaped through her mouth was something of an amalgamation between a gasp and a shriek. "Why?"

"Because," Brock replied pointedly. Whether it was discomfort at her distress or regret from speaking so pessimistically, he still couldn't meet her eyes. "I said why. We wouldn't be out here right now. We would have found him already. Pikachu wouldn't do this. He wouldn't hide from us; he wouldn't run away. He would have heard us—would've heard Ash _for sure_! He would've come out. No way is he...is he in Pallet and not coming to us. Unless..." Brock dipped his head and kneaded at his eyes. "Unless he couldn't."

_Unless he couldn't._ It was those words that seized Misty, made her feel like she was going to promptly suffocate. She couldn't speak, couldn't articulate any kind of response to the dreadful image Brock was painting. _Images_, rather; too many awful scenarios could be derived from Brock's hopeless addendum, and all of them seemed to be colliding and exploding at once in Misty's mind.

"What do you think happened to him?" she asked nervously when achieving the nerve to do so.

After a ponderous pause, Brock raised his head to finally regard her. "I think someone might've taken him."

Misty stared at him for a moment, blue eyes blinking almost dumbly. "Oh," she uttered as she registered this. For some reason, her imagination had concocted a _much_ more appalling outlook, and at first, Brock's answer actually granted relief. Taken? Well, okay. It was almost as if she hadn't considered that one at all—

Her eyes flew open in revelation. "_Oh_!"

Latching on even more to the positivity of Brock's speculation, Misty came alive as she put two-and-two welcomingly together. "Yeah. Yeah! That—that's what Ash was saying!" she cried, making Brock recoil. "H-he thinks someone might have found him yesterday and taken him out of the rain!"

It was the bright light she'd been grasping so badly for. Her feet began to dance, and she looked as though she was prepared to break into a dead sprint at the slightest signal. She stabbed her pointed finger excitedly in Ash's direction. "We should go and catch up with him! He said he was going to go to some houses and see if Pikachu was there! Let's go, too, and help him lo—"

"_Misty_." Despite her enthusiasm, all it took was a simple yet firm interjection from Brock to kill her rambling midstream. She'd tried not to notice that he hadn't been reacting much to her rush of optimism, but when it became very obvious from his sober look that Brock did not share her sentiment, the buoyancy perished from her face and the eager words dissolved on her tongue like ice cubes.

"That's not what I meant," he sighed. "I mean—it's possible!" he amended hastily. "I _hope_ that's what happened! I hope Pikachu's in someone's house right now and we find him. I just..." He shrugged halfheartedly. "I don't think that's the case."

Misty was winded, her body overdriven with all of the emotions ricocheting within. "...Well...what, then?" Her voice was so small and helpless, almost exposing itself too fragile to accept what he had to offer next.

"...I think he was stolen, Misty."

A huge lump lodged in her throat. It could have been her heart—who knew. She'd felt it leap in her chest so violently she wouldn't have been shocked. _Pikachu_ and _stolen_ were always two words they feared occupying the same statement. Not to say they weren't used to it becoming reality often—more than several (dozen) times, sadly. Still, the idea always haunted them, posed a constant threat.

Another picture entered her head. This one was less stomach-turning than the others, but only somewhat.

"Stolen?" she echoed. "But—who? By who?"

Misty knew that was a stupid question. It just came automatically, a result of her unrelenting dismissal of these unthinkable theories. And sure enough, Brock nailed her with an incredulous look, stunned by what he saw as contrived ignorance. "Do you really need more than one guess?"

She didn't even need one guess, of course. It couldn't have been any clearer if he'd spelt it out with a buzzing, neon sign. But there was still something about it all that didn't make sense—that she _refused_ to allow to make sense. Something glaringly unfathomable.

"B-but...they haven't been around!" she protested. "We haven't seen them here in Pallet for—for _months_! They haven't been bothering us!"

"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean they haven't been here," Brock contended wisely. "You know that. Just because they didn't pop out and recite their motto everyday doesn't mean they weren't hiding out and spying on us, watching our every move. You can't put that past them."

"But...they haven't _bothered us_!" Misty repeated unconsciously, vehemently, not knowing how else to rebuff.

Brock seemed understanding of her reluctance to listen to reason. "I know," he conceded patiently. "But maybe—maybe they didn't want to. They could've had a different approach, who knows. Maybe they were just waiting around for the perfect opportunity to take Pikachu, and...and they got it.

"But you can't say they haven't been here just because we haven't seen them. They sure do always seem to know when we _aren't _here. How else could they know?"

"...Yeah...but..."

"I know it sucks, but you have to admit that it's possible, Misty."

She knew it was. Of course she did. There would be something seriously wrong with her if she truly thought otherwise. Misty knew her reasoning was judicious, too—after all, Team Rocket _hadn't_ shown their contemptible faces to the kids in Pallet Town for what seemed like forever. Truth be told, it had been very effortless lately to forget all about them. The longer the layovers in Pallet lasted, the further they strayed from their minds. It was new and peculiar, but they stopped questioning it, and enjoyed the respite.

But Brock was hardly speaking drivel. The villains _did_ seem to know the moment they left Pallet en route to a new destination, and that just couldn't be deemed a coincidence.

"But..." she started cautiously, hugging her arms around herself and bundling Brock's sweatshirt closer to her frame. She didn't really need it anymore, as she was breaking into a clammy sweat. "So what does that mean?"

"It means..." Brock gave a resigning shrug. "It means Team Rocket might very well be responsible for this."

"So then...then what are we doing?" Misty suddenly demanded, her voice reaching a crescendo with a new rush of hysteria. "I mean—we should be searching for them, then! Right? W-we should be going after them!"

"Yeah, but—"

Her arms flailed crazily. "If they have Pikachu, then we have to stop running around and we have to find them!"

"I know, but how are we going to do that?" Brock countered, his sharp voice rising above hers.

She froze, narrowing her eyes warily. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know if that's going to be that easy!"

"Why? Sure it will!" she predicated heatedly. His challenging her was fraying her nerves, filling her with spontaneous anger on top of everything else. "W-we've tracked them down before! We can do it again! They've got to be around here somewhere!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Misty. They've had a while to get away now. Over a day."

"So?"

"_So_? So think about how far they might've gotten by now!"

Misty gawked at him, processing this. Her heart was beating so hard now she feared it was going to burst from her rib cage and bounce down the road like a kickball. There was Brock's common sense again, rearing its not-so-ugly head and tacking one realistic perspective after another on to this nightmare. She just couldn't readily accept everything he was suggesting, though. Just because Pikachu was missing 'x' amount of hours didn't mean what she feared he was implying. He wasn't clairvoyant! He _didn't know_!

"Misty." Brock spoke quietly, easing her out of the trance his blunt words had swallowed her into. He stepped in closer to her. Despite the concerned look he was giving her, she knew—just _knew_—that what he was about to say was something he dreaded having to declare just as much as she was dreading to hear it. Her eyes stung, the culmination of this terrible discussion finally starting to surmount the little bit of hope she'd been holding tightly onto in her heart.

"As much as I really hate to say it... If Team Rocket has Pikachu?" he said regretfully, "...then they're gone."

The menacing tears flooded unstoppably, and Misty reached up to swipe at the pools before they had a chance to descend from her eyes. "Oh, God," she choked. Her hands remained at her face, pressing at the bridge of her nose, almost as if she was holding herself upright in doing so.

_Gone. They're gone._

"Hopefully they _don't_ have him," Brock maintained softly. While out of sensitivity of her emotions, his moderate tone did nothing to soften the blow. He folded his arms and studied their surroundings wistfully. "But at this point, I just can't help fearing that that's exactly what happened."

Misty let her head hang, and her moist hands slid past her eyes and clawed into her knotty bangs. "What are we going to do?" she mumbled miserably.

"I don't know," Brock admitted. "We could try to track them down, but I wouldn't even know where to begin looking. I mean...if they took Pikachu sometime yesterday morning, then they've definitely had enough time to get away—at least get out of Pallet Town. What direction, though? Towards where? There could be tons of hideouts and bases for them to go, for all we know. They could be anywhere—_anywhere_."

Twenty-four hours. It was an indulgence of time for Team Rocket to put miles between them—the kids' misdirection an added benefit. Misty's empty stomach was rolling in queasiness. Jessie and James were fast—they knew how to make a quick getaway when it mattered. And that was when the kids were aware and hot on their trail. Who knew how far they would get with such an advantage?

"And the worst part?" Brock said. "Is that if they did do this, and we don't find them, _soon_...we'll probably never see them again. They'll make sure of it."

Misty couldn't take hearing much more. Even though there was no guarantee that Pikachu had been taken by Team Rocket, Brock's selling of the circumstances was making it seem all the more inarguably probable. And while their recovery record of Pikachu from Team Rocket heists was at a thankfully remarkable one-hundred percent, there was something frightfully discouraging about this particular episode.

Most of the time, Pikachu was snatched right before their eyes. They were able to retaliate immediately, and fortunately, Team Rocket always seemed ready and willing to put up a fight to protect their stolen prize. In a grand-scale tug-o-war, Misty and her friends were the stronger, smarter force. They always got him back.

But how the heck were they going to get him back if they inadvertently granted their adversaries a _one-day_ head-start? A full day of doing exactly what Brock said—everything short of turning over stones, everything _but_ following the lead they should have considered from the very beginning. And now, even after conceding to this, instead of doing all they could to pick up Team Rocket's scent, they were going to help Ash knock on a ton of strangers' doors?

Misty's heart jolted.

_Ash_.

"Ash!" she yelped, jerking Brock from his distraught daze.

"What—?"

"We have to tell him!" she cried, the whites of her eyes flaring. "We have to tell him this!"

"Mis—"

"He's going to go to a bunch of houses and knock on doors! That's going to take him forever, he's going to waste _all day_ on that, and meanwhile Team Rocket could—th-they're gonna get further and further away!"

Brock, looking overwhelmed as she went to pieces for a second time, raised his unsteady hands in an attempt to subdue her, but her terror and impatience didn't allow for it.

"We have to tell him, Brock! We have to catch up to him and let him know! We're wasting time!"

"Mist—"

"We have to let him know!"

"Misty, HE DOES KNOW!"

Brock's unexpected roar slashed through her tirade forcefully, silencing her at once. Heaving, her face flushed and her hair blowing messily into her wild eyes, Misty gaped at him, aghast at his outburst.

"What?" she squeaked, begging him to repeat as if he hadn't blasted it intensely enough.

Brock's shoulders arched with a deep intake of breath. "Ash knows, Misty," he said again, elucidating each word.

Shaking her head back and forth, Misty needed a moment to reflect on this before spitting in frustration, "What? Wh-what do you mean, _he knows_?"

"He—" Brock attempted to reply, but Misty gave him not a chance, superseding him at once with her own contention.

"He doesn't know!" she screamed, her throat starting to feel raw and abraded. "No, no! He can't! I-if he did, he would be looking for them! He wouldn't be running around and going to people's houses and...and doing all this other stuff! How could you say he knows—he hasn't said anything! I didn't hear him mention Team Rocket once! He _doesn't_ know, Brock! He can't! We have to tell him!"

"He _does_ know!" Brock opposed tightly. "How could he not, Misty? He knows just like I know! Just like _you_ knew!"

_Just like you knew. _

She _had_ known, hadn't she? Oh, God..._God_.

"He just doesn't want to believe it," he justified expressly. His voice was powerful and frank, demanding she take hold of herself and listen.

"He's in denial," he went on, almost with a touch of condescension, though anyone who knew Brock closely would know it was only to get his point across to the panic-stricken girl. "He doesn't want to believe it, Misty, because...because he knows, just like you and me, that if Team Rocket got Pikachu, then this time—this time they're probably gone. They got out of here as fast as they could _because_ they could.

"Right now...running all over town looking for Pikachu is just...it's just his way of coping, I think. It's easier for him to do everything he can to try to find Pikachu on his own, because he knows there's not much he can do if Team Rocket does have him. He's holding on to that last bit of hope that maybe Pikachu _is_ here, that he can find him."

"H-how do you know this, Brock?" Misty asked numbly after a beat.

"Because I know him. He's stubborn and hard to get through, but he's not stupid. Maybe he didn't think it was Team Rocket right away yesterday morning, but somewhere along the line he's got to have figured it out. Pikachu just wouldn't be missing this long if it wasn't for something, or _someone_, having something to do with it."

With Ash tearing around town like a tornado, adamant that Pikachu _had_ to be somewhere, it was hard to find truth in what Brock was saying. But little by little, as she, though reluctantly, took it all in, she did find herself believing it. Only because Ash _was_ those things: impetuous, determined, fiercely optimistic...and not obtuse. Dense at times, maybe, but not enough to fail to factor in a highly-feasible cause for his pokémon's absence. Especially one that happened _so ridiculously often_.

So if that were the case, when was he finally going to accept that and act on it? It could definitely be too late by the time he came to his senses. Team Rocket wasn't going to stand around waiting for them to figure out what happened and _then_ take flight. But maybe somewhere in Ash's crazed reasoning he envisioned just that. Maybe he didn't have the same conception of time (or lack thereof) that reality demanded. Or maybe he was, indeed, going too far out of his mind to even recognize what he was turning a blind eye to so riskily.

Misty felt her muscles tighten with purpose. It all came so quickly and certainly. That's where they came in. They needed to go and help him—immediately.

"We have to talk to him, Brock," said Misty. "We have to catch up to him, and—and get him to stop what he's doing so we can start looking for Team Rocket."

She swore Brock arched an eye like she was spewing crazy talk, but he quickly replaced it with a shake of his head. "Misty, even if I thought Team Rocket _could_ be found at this point, I'm worried that's not going to go over as well as you think it will."

"Huh? Why not?"

"You saw how he was before! He's...he's lost it, Misty! I'm not so sure he's going to take too kindly to us getting in his way and telling him something he probably doesn't want to hear right now."

Was he _joking_? "So what!" Misty nearly shrieked, feeling her skin prickle with frenzy. "If we want to find Pikachu, we have to stop fooling around! This is stupid! He's not going to find him in anyone's house! He knows that!"

"Right now, I do think he thinks he's going to find him in someone's house," Brock objected. He then sighed. "I don't know, Misty... I... All I know is, he nearly took his dad's head off before. He's _not_ doing good. The only thing that's probably keeping him going right now is the belief that he's going to find Pikachu on his own. And if we try to mess with that...we just might get more of what Jay got."

"I'm willing to take it," she declared.

"I know. And I know we should step in and get involved. All I'm saying is that I'm not so sure it's going to make any difference what we say. You know how Ash _gets_."

Misty felt her blood teeming with dissent. Maybe Brock wasn't sure he could get through to Ash, and maybe Brock was afraid to confront the explosive boy, but Misty knew it would be different with her. She knew Ash would listen to her, and if it meant taking on some brutal retaliation at first, then so be it. She could handle it—she had before. In the end, it all came down to Ash needing her. And her needing to be there for him. He required a lifeline more than ever, and she was intent to be that for him. Even if Pikachu couldn't be found, she refused to stand on the sidelines and witness him destroy himself in the process of finding that out the hard way.

"Well, I'm going after him," she announced, glaring at Brock resolutely. "And he can fight me all he wants, but _someone_ has to set him straight."

Brock looked to still be wavering, but ultimately he abdicated. "All right, all right. I—I'm with you. We're in for a fight, though. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Misty nodded to concur, knowing he was completely right but thankful to have his support. Then, without another moment of delay, Misty launched into a spirited half-walk, half-jog, Brock alongside her in no more than a second.

"Not that this means we're going to find Pikachu," Brock said.

"I know," Misty acknowledged, feeling her heart pang at the reminder.

"I think part of the reason why I'm not so gung-ho about this is...is because part of me wants to believe it, too. That Pikachu is around here. That we will find him."

"...Maybe we will." Misty forced her voice to perk up slightly, trying desperately to compensate for the harsh actuality they were about to take on. Trying desperately not to give up completely, _not yet_.

"Yeah," Brock replied, though there was absolutely not a trace of confidence to extract from his voice, "maybe."

With each step, Misty could feel her legs twitching to take off into a full run to catch up with her boyfriend. It was a matter of time—seconds, really—until she gave into it. But just as she was about to seize Brock's arm and haul him along on her steadfast mission, the air was suddenly punctuated by the beeping of a car horn.

The two teens instantly froze and spun around at the disturbance, their eyes widening in shock to discover who was approaching slowly from behind.

"It's Jay," Misty gasped.

"What's he doing here?" Brock wondered.

They stood waiting as the car rolled to a stop beside them, wheels grating against the loose, wet gravel of the road. The window descended and revealed Jay, who flashed them a half-smile in greeting.

"Hey. You guys all right?" His voice was airy and concerned, a sharp contrast from the livid shouts they'd last heard him emitting.

Misty nodded faintly while Brock answered: "Yeah. We're fine."

Jay gestured up the road with a bob of his head. "He got away from you, huh?"

"Yeah. We were following for a while, but we just couldn't keep up with him."

"Know where he went?"

"He was ahead of us there a few minutes ago," informed Brock. "Not sure where he is now. We stopped here for a moment and kinda let him get away."

Jay exhaled noisily through his nose. "It's all right. He's only got two legs. Couldn't have gotten too far."

_Wanna bet?_ Misty wanted to comment sardonically. It's only been less than an hour, and while the distance traveled from the house in a straight line didn't amount to much, she was sure they'd gone three times that in zigzags.

"You guys didn't eat, right?" Jay asked, narrowing an eye at them suspiciously.

Misty was jarred by the rapid change in subject. In only mere seconds, she'd surmised this encounter was all about finding Ash, catching up with Ash, helping Ash. It had been a while since someone had asked her something about _herself_.

"No," she replied almost bashfully.

"We didn't get a chance," Brock added.

With a knowing look, Jay gave a throw of his head again, only this time, it was in the opposite direction. "I figured. Why don't you go home, then," he said, a light command disguised as a suggestion. "Go grab some breakfast."

_Go home?_ Misty anxiousness amplified with the appeal, and she exchanged an unsure glance with Brock. "But...what about Ash...?" she asked.

Jay dismissed it with a flick of his hand. "Don't worry about Ash," he offered. "Leave him to me. You guys should eat. You must be starving. And you look like you're cold," he told Brock.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

Misty was fed-up enough with his stubbornness that it diverted her from the matter at hand, and she couldn't check her impatient huff. "Oh, Brock, no, you aren't," she scoffed, only to be met with an admonishing frown from her friend over his shoulder.

Amused by Misty's short and snappy calling-out, a chuckle rumbled in Jay's throat. "All right, you guys, head on back. Really. I promised Mom I'd send you home. She's worried about all of you.

"You don't have to worry about Ash," he reassured. He must have been reading the lingering misgiving in their faces. "I'll track him down. I promise."

In spite of the fact that she was definitely feeling the effects of hunger (something that seemed to manifest only after she'd learned the layout of Ash's neighborhood twice over), Misty simply wasn't ready to put their mission on hold for a quick bite to eat, and certainly not because she was _told_ to. Not this soon after Brock's eye-opener and her commitment to take action. The thought of just up and deserting Ash now, at this critical time, when he needed her most, seemed impractical—_dishonorable_.

"No, it's okay," she said, forcing a soft smile to mask her annoyance at being sent home. "I can eat later. I wanna come with you to find Ash."

Jay apparently had his mind set on how this was going to play out, however. "Misty," he shook his head. "Thanks, but please. Go. I got it from here. You'll see Ash in a little bit."

But with each passing second, Misty felt more besieged by distress. Of course, she couldn't blame Jay: he didn't know. He didn't know this wasn't _just_ about rejoining Ash. What she and Brock had to relay to her addled boyfriend wasn't on Jay's agenda—at least, she didn't _think_ it was. Her desire to put up a fight with the man simmered within her, objection held fast behind clenched teeth. She wasn't sure what would result. It wasn't the first time she'd pleaded to accompany Jay on a mission to find Ash, and then, her request had also been denied. That incident had been something Jay had to personally sort out, but that wasn't the case this time around.

Unbeknownst to her, Jay must have recognized the telling indecision in her demeanor. Ash had spoken about this before, how his father could read anyone like a child's picture book, especially when the wheels in one's head were spinning in opposition, and that was what seemed to be unfolding now.

Sure enough: "Are you sure you guys are all right?" There was that doubtful sideways glimpse again. "You want a ride back home?"

"N-no, it's not that! We want to..." she trailed off, doing her best to gulp down her exasperation. Honestly, was explaining it just going to be futile? Should she just take a page from Ash's book and bolt?

"We were just going to catch up with Ash because we...have to talk to him," Brock picked up helpfully. "We need to tell him something."

"Tell him what? I can pass it on," Jay replied.

"No, it's—w-we think we know what happened to Pikachu."

Jay's eyes widened considerably, his attention held. "You do?"

"Yeah, but we...we're not sure if Ash's...completely realized it," Brock explained.

"Which is why we want to get to him right away!" Misty chimed in, the urgency racing through her veins discharging the words compulsively.

"What is it?" Jay demanded, excited and edgy.

"Team Rocket," Brock supplied hastily, as if he was trying to make up for unintentionally beating around the bush.

Pausing for a moment, Jay eyed Brock. "You serious?"

Despondently, Misty and Brock nodded.

"You mean those idiots I threw off my property, like, two years ago?"

_Threw off_ was quite the understatement, but again, the two kids nodded.

"But I haven't seen them since then! Really, you sure?"

"We aren't _sure_," Brock said. "But it's our gut-feeling."

"Brock thinks that if Pikachu was just wandering around Pallet, we would've found him by now," clarified Misty.

Jay's head dipped, and his fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel. He fixed them both with a dreary look of accord. "I gotta admit...I was thinking the same thing," he admitted quietly. Misty felt her innards tighten. "Especially after last night, when we didn't find Pikachu, I started to feel really doubtful about the whole thing.

"I never considered Team Rocket, though," he shrugged. "Then again, I really don't know all that much about them. I only hear stories from you guys. What makes you think it was them? I mean, I know they bug you on a regular basis, but I don't remember you mentioning them having Pikachu for long."

"They usually don't," Brock replied. "Usually, they take him right from Ash and think they can get away by sending out their pokémon to fight us off. But we seem to get 'im back pretty quickly most of the time."

Jay smacked his lips contemplatively. "Different scenario this time."

"Yeah. Very different."

"Hate to say it," Jay winced, "but it was probably just a matter of time before they learned from all their botched attempts and tried something new."

"Yeah," Brock recognized forlornly. "What we're really afraid of is if they spent the last day on the run, how far they could've gotten."

Jay blanched. "Have _any_ idea where they'd go?"

"...No."

"Dammit," he groused, dragging a hand across his mouth and gazing sullenly down the road. It looked as though he, too, wasn't sure how to process the news, and that made Misty even more ill at ease. Seeking assurance from Brock hadn't panned out well, and now it looked as though she wasn't going to get any from Ash's dad, either. Hopelessness piled atop more hopelessness.

"So we want to catch up with Ash and...and tell him this," Brock said. "We feel he's wasting time doing what he's doing. I kinda think he's already figured it out, but...he's definitely not acting like he is."

"You think he could be ignoring the facts," Jay said matter-of-factly, hitting the nail on the head.

"Maybe." Brock sighed. "I know it's what we have to do. I just...hate to be the bearer of bad news," he lamented.

"Well, if you're right, and he knows already, then really, you're not," Misty pointed out.

"He doesn't have to worry either way," Jay said, his voice suddenly mounting with intention. "I'll be the one to tell him."

As if obligated, Brock hastened to demur: "It's okay—"

"No, it's fine," Jay insisted, holding a hand up gently. "Look, you guys did a lot for Ash today already. Running all over creation, following him out here. It's not even eight o'clock yet—or maybe it is. I don't know. Just...you guys need to take a break. Please—go home, let me find him and talk to him. Maybe he _has_ figured it out by now. Who knows? I'll find out. If he _doesn't_ know, well, he already hates me, so... It's okay. You can come back out later if we're gonna continue this."

_If we're gonna continue this..._ Misty still couldn't handle all these depressing remarks. Or that it still looked like she had no choice but to return home, leaving the important task of easing a very fragile Ash into a state of acceptance and recourse by the one member of their household he probably least desired to see. It was kind of Jay to take this difficult matter upon himself, but it was Ash she was most concerned about—not herself. She wanted to make sure _he_ was okay.

Yet, it seemed she was simply and helplessly drawing out the inevitable, because she knew her argument was headed nowhere. Brock was aware of this, too; she could sense it through his attitude. And so, taking advantage of their contemplative interlude of silence, Jay graced them with one final cheerless smile, and his window began to ascend.

"Go home, kids," he bid one more time before the window shut completely, ending the conversation decisively. Misty and Brock said not a word as he took off at once, leaving them in a cloud of exhaust.

For a moment, neither moved a muscle, still in doubt of what action to take next—Misty especially. She stood dazedly in the midst of what just transpired, her concern for Ash's wellbeing soaring in her afflicted heart. She knew, of course, that Jay would take good care of him, but it still didn't feel _right_. _She_ ought to be going to him. Her relationship with Ash had certainly clashed with his parents' still very-active involvement on a number of occasions, but never before did it anguish her to this extent. It was becoming harder and harder to relinquish control of Ash's affairs as each day passed and her bond with her best friend strengthened increasingly, and this situation above all others made her feel so terribly and distraughtly incapable.

"Misty, c'mon," Brock said softly. She could feel him leaving her side, evidently giving way to Jay's request. "Let's go."

Her mind knew to comply, but her feet still wouldn't budge and her gaze refused to deflect from the wake of Jay's car, from the course her heart knew she _should_ be taking.

"He's going to be okay," he added.

Whether deliberately adjusting his voice to coax her out of her state or truly confident that all was going to be fine without their immediate involvement, she found herself taking his words at face value. Or grasping desperately onto them—either way. She had no other choice, right? It was done, wasn't it? There was no way she was going to catch up to Jay. There was really nothing more she could do...short of praying.

"I mean...I do kinda want to eat, especially if we're going to be at this again later." Then, with a hint of restrained laughter in his voice: "And...I really _could_ use a jacket."

A rogue smile flashed across Misty's face of despair. She couldn't help it. She turned to Brock and was met with an admitting shrug and a small, sad smile, one that begged her to let it go but didn't fail to acknowledge that none of this was quite over yet. It was a gesture Misty appreciated. Knowing Brock wasn't ready to give up was a tiny comfort atop all the torment, one she embraced as she finally submitted to his urging and began to trail him back to the house.

As current practice, they descended into quietness as they walked. Only this time, Misty felt no desire to talk.

* * *

Sad to say, the outskirts of Pallet's wooded areas were yielding no results. Ash had a feeling that was going to be the case, though. He was basically retracing similar steps he'd taken the day before, and just like yesterday, the squelchy, dark coppice barely revealed an active creature, much less Pikachu in…the state Ash expected to find him in.

What state that was going to be, exactly, remained the dismaying mystery.

He was hurrying along the road that ran parallel to the perimeter of woods, his legs aching from the rough pace he was inflicting on them. At present, it was the best way he could search the forest without actually penetrating it, as it was still a rather impassable bog as a result of the storm. Even the road, which was mostly paved, was spotted with standing puddles and sticky mud patches, a tricky obstacle course. The overall conditions were far improved, but he was nevertheless limited, and he hated it.

He'd lost Misty and Brock ages ago. He knew they were behind him not long after he'd dashed from his house; they'd called and called for him to wait up, but the last thing he wanted to do was perpetuate that ugly episode. That was over, done, and he was putting it behind him, both mentally and in yardage. He purposely maintained his velocity, never running from them but not exactly giving them the opportunity to catch up, either. After a while, their calls for him morphed into calls for Pikachu, and relief quickly washed over him. They _did_ realize after all what was important, and it wasn't him or his dad or those bogus piles of rocks that had turned up on the front lawn.

He appreciated their support, but it didn't shorten his rate. They'd catch up.

Or not.

After a while, Ash stopped throwing glances back to see where they were. His determination did not allow a moment for diversion.

But while dogged in his search, he still felt largely overwhelmed. There were so many places he needed to look, so many people he could talk to, so many theories to probe. He honestly didn't know where to begin. The weather had posed such a terrible hindrance the day before. Being knocked off his feet and beaten back by blustering winds—when he was actually able to get outside—had hardly been conducive to a proper search. But now, the beautiful day was almost daunting. He felt like an excitable pokémon just released from a pokéball after days of internment. Energy surged through his limbs, but without a solid handle on his agenda, it was only succeeding in making him feel dizzy and beset, not enabled.

As Ash danced around yet another lingering puddle, one obvious conclusion was made: this part of the search was proving fruitless. Pikachu wasn't here alongside the road, out in the open, nor was he hiding away in the fringes of the inhospitable marsh. Ash couldn't come up with a practical (optimistic) reason why he would be, either. Choosing to discount, for now, the immensity of the woods beyond Pallet's borders and the near impossibility that presented—after all, why would Pikachu wander _further_ away from home?—Ash started to focus on where his search would take him next. Pikachu was in Pallet Town. He had to be. But where?

It was time to start knocking on some doors. Someone had him. Poor Pikachu was probably nervous and antsy, but hopefully warm, comfortable, and fed. Ash knew he potentially had a long day of introducing himself to a score of strangers before he'd find his friend, but no sacrifice of time was too great or imposition too awkward. He'd do whatever it took.

Up ahead the woods were coming to a natural point, giving way to open land and a more plentiful cluster of homes. Ash paused and gave the neighborhood a quick scan. It seemed like an appropriate enough place to begin his door-to-door inquest. The community was situated halfway between Ash's house and Professor Oak's, and if Pikachu had been on the move to either, he might have been noticed by a pitying resident. Why no one had called or gotten in touch with Ash was puzzling and discomfiting, as he was sure most people in town knew of him and his pikachu, but he was going to give them the benefit of the doubt before dwelling negatively on that thought.

As he began to cross the road, he wondered why the day before, when the conditions had detained him in the house and he'd accomplished nothing but agonizing, he hadn't spared a few minutes to print out a couple dozen flyers.

_Missing: Pikachu. Yes, that one—the one you've seen on TV._

_Valuable…no—invaluable._

The backs of his eyes instantly burned with tears, but he clenched them tightly and willed them away. He _wasn't_ going to cry! Crying was a distraction! And he'd already established this with himself—he couldn't have any distractions! Focus and equanimity were the keys to finding Pikachu safe and sound. Distractions were only going to set him back.

Getting honked at as he barely reached the other side of the street could be constituted as just such a prime example.

Though the beep was gentle, a mere rap on a horn, it still succeeded in catching the rapt Ash off-guard. Jumping at the sound and nearly tripping up over his feet, Ash's head instinctively snapped to the right and to the source. And then his eyes went as round and wide as a possessed hoothoot's.

No…it _couldn't_ be!

Roughly a hundred yards away, pulled off to the side of the same road he'd just been walking down, was a silver sedan. A very_ familiar_ silver sedan.

Ash's heart immediately leapt into his throat as he gawked in disbelief.

What in hell was _he_ doing here?

His first instinct was to run. If he hadn't been so stunned, he might have. Instead, his feet seemed to have merged with the pavement. Paralyzed in shock, Ash could only watch vulnerably, almost in slow-motion, as the car door opened and out stepped his father.

Straight-faced, inscrutably so, Jay shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms and loping one leg over the other. He was the image of casualness. Gone were his trousers and his buttoned-down shirt, replaced with jeans, his weekend jacket, and even a baseball cap. From his relaxed demeanor, it looked as though he'd been waiting patiently, contentedly even, knowing exactly when and where he was bound to meet up with his son.

It was all so deceiving. Ash knew exactly how his dad felt, and none of it was represented by his bizarre, laid-back manner.

But that wasn't the most baffling aspect of this turn of events. Why Jay was _there_ was a little more disconcerting, naturally. And how in Ho-oh's name had Ash not _noticed_ him? Had he been _that_ consumed by his undertaking that he'd managed to waltz on past his father's car so obliviously?

Well, maybe that wasn't too far-fetched. Ash wondered fleetingly if he could have strolled past an imposing line-up of legendary pokémon and failed to see them, so long as a little yellow mouse was not in his immediate periphery.

But just as swiftly as the question of Jay's presence arose it was replaced with the answer. While it didn't take away from the shock of it all, Ash knew exactly why his father was there.

It had been easy to put what had happened in the back of his mind when he'd set his attention solely on Pikachu. But now, faced abruptly with what was no doubt going to be round two and the last of their altercation, it all came rushing back crushingly. Worse, Ash felt all the livid recklessness that had fueled him not too long ago dissolve into thin air just with their unspoken acknowledgement.

Frozen stiff, all he could do was glare at Jay, who still maintained his pokerfaced guise.

"What are you doing here?" Despite how much Ash tried to keep his tone confident, the question came out betrayingly unstable.

Still propped comfortably against the car, Jay's mouth twitched into a slight simper. "Came to take care of some unfinished business," he replied matter-of-factly.

Ash's knees quivered. Taking off right then and there was what his body itched desperately to do, but now he fought the innate temptation. He knew, in the end, it would be a useless—not to mention dimwitted—move. He couldn't run forever. It only took an instant of levelheadedness, forcibly attained in the heat of opposition, for him to fully grasp the scope of the situation. This confrontation had been inevitable from the very start, but it certainly had come much quicker than Ash had anticipated.

For one—and only, really—his father should have been at work. He'd been _going_ to work. He'd been up and dressed and a coffee and two pieces of toast away from heading out, until…the incident occurred. And yes, as much as Ash regretted it, and as much as he knew his actions would come back to haunt him, this was the last thing he saw coming. Did what he said, what he lay down so angrily and so powerfully, affect Jay so much that his dad actually _abandoned_ the idea of going to work, changed his clothes, and waited deliberately on the side of the road for him to turn up?

He was totally done for.

Ash took a deep, shaky breath, desperate to achieve some poise. There was nothing more he could do now. It was time to face the music, premature though it was, but he was going to do so holding his ground. And then, he'd just keep looking for Pikachu. Simple as that. Because nothing was going to stop him. This was to be no more than a bump in the road—an incredibly unforeseen, unpleasant one, but that's all it was nonetheless.

His eyes boring into his father's as boldly as possible, he straightened, attempting to camouflage his nerves with a forged brazenness he was certain Jay wouldn't fall for nor appreciate. But he needed _something_. Wordlessly, he conceded his father the next move.

Finally, Jay shifted. Even through his mask of daring, Ash was impelled to backpedal a few feet. Jay took note and paused, the smirk growing a bit bolder. Ash's throat tightened a little in indignity; he was _so glad_ his father was enjoying this. But then, why shouldn't he? He had the advantage now. He was in control. He was entitled. He had his son at his mercy, and if he wanted to milk that to the max, he had every right.

Taking his attention briefly away, Jay glanced through the open window of his car and leaned in to retrieve something. Ash went rigid, save for the little somersault his stomach did. With fierce acuteness, his eyes zeroed in on his father's hand as it slowly returned with…a coffee mug?

Jay held the travel cup up at face level and tipped his head at his gaping son. "Forget something?"

Ash blinked a few times in rapid succession, forcing himself to ascertain what his father was presenting. "Oh," he said dazedly. "Oh, right. My cocoa."

"Yeah. Your cocoa," Jay drawled. He extended his arm, offering the mug out to Ash, but all the boy did was back up another step. The reaction triggered a faintly amused huff from Jay, though he still failed to produce a genuine smile.

"Contrary to popular belief," he quipped, "I'm not gonna bite."

Despite the cordial tenor to his father's voice, Ash didn't attempt to make up for his small retreat, opting instead to root his feet in place, hook his thumbs under his backpack straps, and hunch his shoulders inward. It wasn't that he didn't trust his father—he believed that it was, indeed, cocoa—but this all seemed too...paradoxical. Now it was looking like his father skipped out on work not to put him in his place out of sheer impatience…but to bring him his breakfast?

His silence only made Jay's brow arch. "Well?" he said, craning his arm encouragingly. "You gonna take this now or...maybe sometime in the next week? I'm growing a beard here."

"I—I don't want it," Ash replied hastily. It was only half-true; his annoyingly incessant appetite was begging to differ.

"Oh, come on," his father frowned. He took a few steps, and Ash did everything in his power not to fall back in turn. "You're really going to turn down someone making this especially for you, _and_ personal roadside delivery, too?"

Ash's eyes darted.

"At least accept it out of gratitude, son."

"I'm not hungry," Ash persisted.

His dad sighed. "I know. I know. But...you really should have something. And I'm not saying that to echo your mother. I want you…" He suddenly trailed off, shaking his head, and took a deep breath. Evidently, he was ditching the approach he'd been about to take.

"No. I don't want you to do it for me," he rephrased. "Don't do it for anyone but yourself. Okay? And—and Pikachu. You think Pikachu wants you out here looking for him while you're starving to death?"

"I'm _not_ starving to death," ground Ash stubbornly. He really didn't know why he was so adamant about this. His stomach was bewailing its emptiness. At the same time, however, the thought of ingesting any type of food made him nauseous. Never before—not even prior to any of his League battles, when his stomach would twist in ways he didn't even think were biologically feasible—had he experienced such an aversion to eating. It…sort of scared him. As did a lot of other things presently.

"Ash…" Jay pressed quietly, coming forward again.

Ash panicked at his advance, and shouted, "No! I don't need it!"

The fierce assertion—_shriek_, actually—made Jay's head jerk back, and Ash's breath held tight in his lungs. He really hadn't meant for that to come out so manically. The cool and collected facade he'd wanted to portray was collapsing, and fast. Granted, the encounter was revealing to be genial more than anything, but Ash could never really anticipate his father's actions. This could go south for him very easily, and every bit of dignity mattered.

Shrieking, incidentally, wasn't particularly attractive for a guy his age, either.

Jay opened his mouth to make some sort of response, but he suddenly shut it, and his head dipped in what looked like…amusement?

"Oh, wow," he then chuckled. _Chuckled!_

That certainly did it—Ash had literally seen every emotion cross his father's features that morning, an absolute exposition of Jay Ketchum.

Jay lifted his head, and at last, there was the smile that had been threatening to materialize the whole time. "That's so funny. You know what you reminded me of just now, you saying that? The night you were born."

Ash cocked his head blankly.

"Well—no, _me_, on the night you were born," Jay quickly clarified.

Ash must have been giving his dad quite the look to make up for his inability to say something to that, because Jay's smile coiled whimsically, as if satisfied with his nonplused reaction.

"Okay, so your mother was in labor a long time—nineteen, twenty hours? Longer than either one of us expected, that's for sure," he recalled. "And that whole time? I was a _nervous wreck_. I couldn't sit still for two seconds. They kept telling me to relax and calm down, but there was just _no_ way that was happening—no way. I mean—could you blame me? I was, what, twenty-one-years-old, I'd barely been married a year, and all of a sudden—boom, you were coming! I was terrified."

He shook his head as he breathed this admission, but the smile lingered. Ash just listened—it was really all he _could_ do, but he was guardedly captivated with what Jay's random account had to do with anything. This encounter was proving cyclonically dizzying, going from postulated ambush to delivery service to…story time?

"The last thing I wanted to do that day was eat," Jay continued, rotating the travel mug in his hands. "I had absolutely no appetite. Any time the nurses brought me food it just sat there untouched. They even brought me frozen yogurt, and I didn't even want to _look_ at it, if you can believe that! And forget about me going down to the cafeteria—even before Mom started pushing you out, I couldn't bring myself to wander ten feet away. Heh, you should've seen how fast I used the bathroom each time I finally gave into it!"

He erupted in hearty laughter, but that slowly died out and his expression sobered. Jay fell back and settled upon the hood of the car, propping his feet up on the bumper.

Geez, how long was this story going to _be_? Ash wondered as he watched him make himself more comfortable.

After a pause, Jay arched a shrewd eye at him from beneath the brim of his cap. "So…do you wanna know what happens to you when you spend an entire day freaking out, worrying, stressing, working up the grossest sweats imaginable, annnnd...you don't eat?"

Ash seemed to perk and slump concurrently as his father's tactic was cleverly unveiled. But despite the instantaneous chagrin he felt, he couldn't fight the curiosity that leached from the cliffhanger dangled before him. He'd never heard this story before and wondered why. It was sort of engaging...except it was being ruined by being used as an awkwardly obvious lecture.

"Let me tell you," Jay smirked, after letting his point sink in, "nothing fun.

"I didn't even realize something was wrong with me. I was so preoccupied with falling to pieces over everything that was going on that I didn't feel I was hungry, that I was losing energy. And all of a sudden—hours and hours after being in the hospital, right before your mom started getting serious—I felt _really, really_ dizzy. It just hit me—like _that_. I remember my vision getting all fuzzy, and my legs feeling like they weren't going to hold me up in the next second, so I immediately sat down. Fell into the chair, more like. And boy, must I have looked like real shit, because suddenly all the nurses were all over me. All of the nurses who should have been tending to your mother." He hesitated austerely. "Who _had been_ tending to her."

_You don't have to go on_, Ash thought, and wanted to vocalize. He even had the urge to roll his eyes outwardly at how apparent it was that _he got it, he got it_, _anyone_ would get it. The moral was all but slapping him in the face.

Yet he remained silent. The fact of the matter was that the parable was indeed hitting home in the way Jay intended and Ash sought to avoid. Abashed, his eyes strayed from his narrating father to the ground. It felt better to distractedly take in a residual puddle, reflecting the pale sky and sheer clouds above, than to acknowledge Jay.

But his father, obnoxiously perceptive as he was, probably saw the effect it was taking on him, because he went on.

"Here I was, so worried about not being there for your mom or missing out on something if I left the room for one second, and look, I almost wound up doing myself in, only because I was too stubborn to realize that being there for someone _also_ kinda includes taking care of yourself at the same time. You scratch yourself out of the equation, you're not there for that person, simple as that, am I right? I wouldn't have done Mom any good passed out cold on the floor while she was delivering you. Well…she probably wouldn't have been surprised if I'd fainted, but from being a wuss, not from self-imposed starvation."

He chortled at his joke, though his voice still held a hint of sedateness. Ash didn't so much as crack a faint smile. Jay's drollness wasn't going to soften the reality that what he was saying _was_ all so sensible, not to mention debasing.

His father had a point. He admitted it...covertly. But that still didn't mean he wanted the cocoa—or cookies, or Thanksgiving dinner, or chewing gum, or _anything_. This was _different_. But how he was going to explain that to Jay—and make a clean getaway on top of it—he didn't know. He just wanted Jay to shut up, so he could be on his way...

"Ash."

His attention was forced with the gentle and succinct demand, for before he could even gather himself to resist it, his father's eyes were locked with his, blazing with gravity.

"I'm telling you this because I have a good idea what you're going through," he empathized carefully. "I know you don't feel like eating and don't feel like you _need_ to, but you have to understand. You're running on adrenaline and emotion right now. You think you're invincible, that nothing is going to stop you from doing what you need to do, and it won't—for now. But truth is, it'll only take you so far. There is going to be a point where your body can't be sustained just by adrenaline anymore. And that moment is going to hit you out of the blue and knock you flat on your butt. You think it won't happen and can't happen, but it will."

Ash glowered at his dad, and subtly began shaking his head in denial. _It won't._

Jay sighed. "It happened to me, and I was in a hospital room," he said. "I was indoors—sitting down, walking around a small room. All the amenities were right there. I was in a secure setting.

"But you're _outside_, Ash. You're running around for miles and miles in all sorts of conditions, and—and at all times of the day and night! Think of all that energy you're burning up! Think of how much you're exhausting yourself! You're not sitting down and stewing with worry like I was. The most energy I burned was from pacing the floor. That's nothing compared to what you're putting yourself through."

Jay regarded him grimly. "You're not going to last much longer if you keep this up, I promise you."

And at that, he must have considered his case rested, because Jay hopped off the car and presented the mug to him once again. Ash balked; he hadn't expected the allegory to be concluded that unceremoniously. Or the assumption of Jay's that he was going to cave _just like that_.

His father took his draw-back as continued distaste of the cocoa, though, and smiled sadly. "C'mon, it isn't Grandma's Tabasco chili," he groaned. "It's just milk and cocoa powder."

"...Dad—"

"I know, I know, there's no rum in it," Jay admitted. "If I was being forced cocoa, I'd want it to be loaded, too. But considering this is your first food in hours, I'm not so sure liquoring you up'd be such a bright move."

Turning to jokes again. Completely like his father, but Ash still wasn't going to allow that method to win him over. He shook his head again and backed up another step, but the space between him and his father still seemed stifling.

"Ash." Jay's shoulders sagged at his obstinacy, and the airiness of his features dampened. "Please. I didn't tell you that really embarrassing story about me just for kicks. I…I can't see what almost happened to me happen to you. I can't let you go not knowing how much longer you'll hold up. Especially since you like to go running off and making _yourself_ lost. Please." Another proffering of the mug, that damned, blasted mug. "Just, please have a little? Give me some peace of mind?"

_Peace of mind._ Like _he_ was the one who needed that, Ash scoffed.

"...You take care of yourself and you can take care of Pikachu."

But there was that exasperatingly rational logic again. On cue it seemed, Ash's stomach twinged, though he still wasn't sure what that was trying to tell him. It could go either way: to Jay, it indicated hunger; to Ash, anxiety. It was uncomfortable, but surely it didn't imply frailty. He didn't feel faint: his legs were restive and willing, and his heart was hammering. Still, the mug stood out like a beacon, so unwanted yet so appealing at the same time. In spite of it all, he did like cocoa, and in the cool autumn air, it would be the perfect fare. He truly didn't know if his body would receive it, though.

There was no way, he realized, he was going to get out of this without satisfying his dad's persistence. What was Ash to do? He could grab the mug and go, to decide on whether or not to consume it later—or chuck it in the bushes when his father wasn't looking; they were viable ways to get around what was being demanded of him now.

Then again, if sipping the cocoa was all it was going to take to get rid of Jay, it was a _much_ better outcome than what Ash had originally projected.

He could get out of this, away from this—without further ugliness, it seemed. Time was also wasting away impenitently...

And so, casting his eyes from his father's, Ash tentatively took the mug. What he hadn't expected was the heat seeping through instantly, warming his numb fingers and sending a wave of relief coursing through his nerves. He almost let out a moan, the soothing feeling lulling him into an unexpected daze.

It was the best he felt all morning.

"I think Mom even put half-and-half in it," mused Jay delightfully. "She's so desperate to fill your stomach I'm surprised she didn't make the whole thing up with that!

"Go on," he then urged. He reached out and tapped the bottom of the mug gently in persuasion. It snapped Ash out of his spell, and he wrenched his stubborn gaze from the steaming spout to Jay's reassuring smile. His father looked so caring, so concerned. So much like he did that morning before Ash went and threw everything off, shot his mouth off in ways that stitched his belly worse than his hunger.

What had he been thinking…?

Blinking away more unsolicited tears, he resigned and brought the cup to his mouth. One sip—that's all he needed to give.

"Easy," Jay warned softly. "It's been cooling in the car for a while, but it still might be hot."

Complying, Ash let the cocoa lap into his lips to test it before letting a small amount pool in his mouth. It was hot, but not painfully so. He could feel his tongue and throat being slightly scorched, but it…tasted great. And with that, he took another swig. The cocoa glided to his stomach and filled him at once with warmth and fulfillment.

Okay. So maybe this _wasn't_ such a bad thing after all.

"That's it," Jay crooned. "How about as soon as you polish some of that off, you and I can...resume the search, huh?"

Ash was in mid-swallow as he said this, and the cocoa nearly went down his windpipe.

"Wh-what?" he coughed.

"Yeah. You, uh...you still had places you wanted to look, right?"

Clearing the last of the liquid from his throat and wiping away a chocolaty film from his lips with the back of his hand, Ash tried to register what Jay was implying before speaking. "Yeah, but…w-with you?"

"Yeah," his father shrugged. "Thought I'd give you a hand. You okay with that?"

"Y-yeah, but… I mean..." Ash faltered, trying to permeate his shock quickly enough to let his dad know that yes, it was okay—it was just...really unforeseen in light of the recent events. Except, now it did kind of make sense why Jay went through all that trouble to change out of his work clothes to bring him his cocoa...

"—Shouldn't you be at work?"

Smirking, Jay shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm sure there's a handful of people at my place who will insist that I should," he said. "But if anyone dares to tell me that something there comes _anywhere close_ to being more important than what's going on with you, they'd better duck right afterward."

Ash didn't doubt Jay's judgment one bit, but he was still baffled by its timing. Where were these sentiments when Jay had woken up this morning? And how in the world had his view shifted in Ash's favor _after_ Ash had unloaded his wrath upon him?

Clearly, he was absolved for his offensive deeds. Or so he figured—Jay wouldn't mislead him this considerably. But something still wasn't adding up right. Despite his father's kindly offer, there was something vaguely amiss in Jay's conduct.

"Figured you could use some company," his dad added. "I mean... I'd also prefer you not do this on your own."

Was _that_ the reason? Because his dad was afraid of him searching his quiet, little, harmless hometown all by—

_Wait a second—_

"But I'm not alo—" Eyes going wide, Ash stopped himself as the unconscious retort sprang from his lips. His heart accelerated, pounded in his ears, as if it only suddenly dawned on him how he'd lost track completely of Misty and Brock. Whirling around, he searched the area to verify that they were nowhere in sight. Shouldn't they have caught up by now? "Misty and Brock..."

"I sent them home," Jay filled him in. "They didn't have anything to eat, either, you know."

"O-oh," Ash responded guiltily, turning back to him. "Oh. I...I lost them. I didn't wait up for them..."

"It's okay," Jay assured. "They're fine, they understand. They'll meet up with us in a little while."

Despite Jay's dismissal, Ash still felt deflated. It was all starting to come to a boil what had actually transpired in the last half-hour. Not only had he estranged himself from his friends, left them behind so thoughtlessly in his dust, but he did so in light of their devoting themselves to him without first attending to their own needs. And now his dad—who'd been so compassionate and supportive of him that morning, whom Ash had then heartlessly blasted for doing something, he realized soon after, was unfeasible for Jay's character—was here now, out of the blue, putting aside his daily responsibilities to lend him assistance.

"So...?" Jay said suddenly, breaking him from his pensive stupor. "Shall we?"

"Uhh...s-sure," Ash sputtered, gathering himself again. "Yeah. I—I was going to go knock on some doors, see if anyone around here has Pikachu."

Instead of the acquiescent face Ash expected, Jay's brow wrinkled in doubt. Second strike-out of the morning in that regard. "Yeah? Is that what you want to do—you sure?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"...Um—o-okay." For a split second, Jay faltered, averting his eyes and running a hand through his hair beneath his cap before concluding: "Okay, yeah...we can do that. Let's do that."

Ash frowned quizzically at his father's back as Jay shuffled back to the car to roll up the window and lock it up. Even with all the stress bearing down on him, he wasn't incognizant to his father's strange behavior—only because Jay was usually the one bursting with sanguinity and the go-getter spirit. Now he was offering a generous hand...only to sound like he was doing it _noncommittally_?

_Whatever, _Ash shook his head and decided to quickly shelve it as soon as he realized what he was doing. _As long as Dad's helping me, what difference does it make?_ He was letting a _distraction_ occupy his mind. And hadn't he decided that distractions were _not_ going to get in the way of finding Pikachu?

Yet, as they made their way over to the block, hushed in the still of the morning, Ash's mind was whirling, not quite sure what to make of all the factors that had gone into this eventful day, or of all the mixed feelings he was fielding. Earlier, his whole being had been driven with one emotion: fear. Now he was experiencing an overwhelming variety: shock, remorse, esteem. And then, there was that other one creeping in, the one he just couldn't dispel, the one he recognized as being far more ill-timed and conflicting and downright _scary_.

"Dad?" he asked softly as they approached the first house, a modest bungalow archetypical of Pallet Town.

"Yeah."

"Pikachu could be in one of these houses...right?" He didn't know where that question came from, that sudden reveal of doubt. It just...came.

Ash didn't dare look up into his father's face. Jay's pregnant pause painted a clear enough picture of his expression.

"Yeah. Yeah, he could be. Sure."

He _wanted_ to sound optimistic—Ash could tell clearly. But no promising language could mask that heavy tenor of hesitation, the same voice Jay had used earlier when Ash had first disclosed his strategy—like his dad wasn't completely onboard, but didn't have the heart to tell him so. It was such a short time ago; Ash remembered how uneasy Jay's manner had made him feel. It had bothered and boggled him, but he'd written it off hastily, forbidding anything to upset his confident resolve.

This time, however, as they approached the front door of the house, a world of unknown beyond the thick oak, Jay's bleak attitude was even more striking.

Because Ash was starting to feel it, too.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Oh, what am I going to do with these people? Ash, so stubborn and blindly hopeful. Misty and Brock, so dejected and stuck in the middle. Jay, so conflicted and at odds with his heart and responsibility. When will they all lead themselves in the right direction? And will I let them? ;P

You know my update timeframe. It's become a sad one, but it's honestly the best I can manage. 2012 is going to be the busiest year of my life. This story will _never_ leave my to-do list, but it may drop down a few slots. Thank you for reading and hopefully enjoying! :) Reviews would be much appreciated.


	9. Pick Up Every Stitch

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project_, but I do own excuses for why it takes me so long to update. Does anyone really want to hear them, though? :(

This chapter is loooonnng, but you guys are certainly owed it. Happy Halloween!

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 9

"Pick Up Every Stitch"

_This is absolutely crazy_, James thought for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. He released a sharp sigh through his nose as he tried to calm his overwrought nerves.

He'd long stopped assisting Jessie. Though she'd solicited his help earlier with what she had next in mind, it was quickly apparent she was just as happy and capable of preparing it herself. In fact, James wondered occasionally if Jessie even realized he was still in the room. Her legs curled tightly beneath her and her head bent in acute concentration, his partner was fully absorbed in her project. Every once in a while, her eyes would glimmer with excitement as visions of her scheme seemingly filled her otherwise occupied mind.

James didn't even _know_ what the next stage entailed, but he did know it was obviously based off that movie he never saw, it obviously was going to be implemented with the continued purpose of taunting the twerps, and it obviously was something she _was_ going to do, regardless of what anyone had to say about it.

What was also obvious to him was the fact that what she was doing was not only completely unnecessary, but dare he say stupid.

At least he had Meowth on his side. That was the only consolation, knowing that he wasn't alone in questioning Jessie's logic. Not that it _mattered_. Even their majority rule wasn't going to deter Jessie from carrying out this venture the way she saw fit. Her dismissal of their input, a flat-out rejection of common sense, had James writhing in frustration. Since when had he been demoted from equal cohort in their mission to an overruled pawn to her reckless ideas?

He didn't have the guts to say that directly to her face. But he wasn't going to stand down and grant her sovereign control of the affair, either. What he needed to do was rely on what he was comfortable and good at doing: carefully voicing his opinion, trying to get through to her with steady reason.

However, "Would you stop worrying, James!" was what she had snapped the last time he'd suggested making a move to exit Pallet. She hadn't even lifted her head to acknowledge him, her focus uninterrupted from fiddling with the small object she was constructing in her lap. "I _told_ you, everything is going to be _fine_!"

But James couldn't accept that easily for one second. History was on his side, wasn't it? Were they not playing with the hottest of fires, taking irresponsible advantage of the first big break they had in forever? Were they seriously not underestimating the adversary who had a glaringly perfect record against them? Wasn't said adversary out searching for them at _that very moment_?

He and Meowth could have performed a musical number proclaiming these particulars, but Jessie was equipped with an arm-full of allegorical rotten tomatoes, ready to rebuff anything that disputed her plan. She was obsessed, more so that James had ever seen. It was dumbfounding, not to mention maddening. So hell-bent on throwing salt on the fresh wounds of the twerp, she was being rendered blind to the very, very real repercussions this could result in. It was becoming jarringly unlike her, quite frankly. Never before, in James' opinion, had Jessie shown such blatant foolishness.

And that, scarily enough, was just the half of it. There was also the issue of their captive of honor himself, Pikachu.

As Jessie continued to twist and tie and knot together whatever the heck it was she was making (James had asked earlier when she had first started, but all he got in response was a happily crafty "You'll see!"), he chanced a glimpse at the caged mouse. And his anxiety promptly skyrocketed.

Pikachu did not look well. It didn't take an expert to make that observation. He was in quite a state from the moment they had captured him: shivering, huddled into a ball against the side of the crate, pitiful and weak. But in the last twenty-four hours, he'd gotten progressively worse. In just that short time, the strong, capable creature they knew was an ailing shell of his former self. Coat dull, eyes glassy, ears drooped, Pikachu was not just a sight for sore eyes, his condition was downright chilling. Wretchedly lethargic, he hadn't made an attempt to rise since the night before, lying prostrate though rarely asleep. Whenever James locked eyes with the mouse's, a shiver ran up his spine. A few alarming times, he wondered if he was looking into the soul of a dying pokémon.

That was nonsense, though, he scolded himself. It was only a day! Surely Pikachu wasn't _that_ bad. No healthy pokémon could deteriorate that rapidly. He was depressed and feeble—that was it. He wasn't eating, after all. All the food they had offered him sat untouched and the water in his bowl was replaced frequently, not from being drunk but to clear it of the dust and yellow fur that gathered and floated stagnant atop it. Meowth had done his part in trying to persuade Pikachu to eat, but to no avail. Pikachu obviously had lost his appetite, not to mention his will to do much of anything...well, of which he could do in detention.

But despite putting that dreadful notion out of his mind, James knew that they needed to get Pikachu out of there and into the competent hands of team members who'd know how to care for him—veterinarians, skilled handlers, people who could hopefully restore Pikachu to his former glory before the boss saw what the recent course of events had done to him. Maybe Pikachu was hanging in there for now, but he wouldn't last forever if he continued to deprive himself...and if Jessie continued to delay.

It was no longer just an issue of getting Pikachu to the boss before the twerps found them; it was also an issue of getting Pikachu to the boss while the mouse was still in halfway decent shape.

James turned his attention back to Jessie. She was still hard at work, in her own world. Had she even _seen_ Pikachu since they had gotten back from their morning prank?

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. "Jess?"

"Hmm?"

His tongue poised once more to strongly recommend making their escape, he held back, deciding to adjust his strategy.

"When, uh, were you planning on executing Plan B?"

"Tonight," she replied. "Same time we did it last night, perhaps earlier."

James' heart accelerated in panic. The same time as last night? He didn't really know what the current time was, but it couldn't have been noon yet. Did she really expect them to hide away in the house, with the twerps vigilantly on the hunt, for the next twelve plus hours?

Throwing another glimpse at the sickly Pikachu, he then looked to Meowth, who was perched on the rotting windowsill keeping a lookout for any sign of the kids. The cat's eyes widened dramatically, signaling to James that his concern was still very much there. The confidence boost from Meowth's backing adding to his unease over Pikachu's state, James knew at that instant he needed to break from his comfort zone and, once again, face up to his partner.

"You really...think that's a good idea?" His nose wrinkled in a cringe, preparing for the inevitable backlash.

Sure enough, Jessie's fingers went still and her head shot up. She glared at James, and he did all he could to keep from physically recoiling.

"Oh, and what's a better idea?" she retorted. "Packing up Pikachu right now and heading out in the broad daylight while the brats are out looking for us?"

"W-well..." James stammered.

"Because I think that would be a _really_ smart alternative," she remarked scathingly. Her point put across, she went back to crafting...that thing. The sight of it partnered with Jessie's retaliation made James bristle. What the hell _was_ that, anyway? He didn't even know what they were waiting around for!

He had been patient and acquiescent long enough. Although he felt they should have taken off as soon as the weather cleared up, he allowed Jessie to influence him to have a little fun and place the rock piles on the Ketchums' front lawn. He'd been nervous, but he hadn't seen any real harm. But Jessie's plan was transforming into something completely different now, something that worried him fiercely, something she was making outright _mysterious_—to _them, _her friends. Not being privy to what she was plotting next fueled his nerve. What gave her the right to hide that from him when his future was at stake from this mission just as much as hers was?

"What _is_ plan B?" he managed the courage to demand. "At least keep Meowth and me in the loop!"

"Yeah, you've been workin' constantly on dat ting since we got back!" Meowth spoke up, annoyed. "And how long do I gotta stay in dis window lookin' for 'em?! I'm gettin' bored here!"

Bored? James never considered _boredom_ one of his present afflictions. It was too nerve-wracking to get bored.

"Well, you're just going to have to stay in that window a little while longer, Meowth," Jessie smirked, offering no sympathy. "Since you two are so worried they're going to find us here."

"You know they _could_!" James' voice peaked with resolve.

She snorted. "And up to the attic we'd go," she sang. When they returned to the house knowing the twerps were lurking, they made sure there was a place they could hide in the unlikely (Jessie deemed) event they raided the property. Ordinary closets weren't dependable, but, according to her, there was no way they'd think to pull down the ratty old cord in the hallway that presented the stairs to the musky crawlspace. They weren't that bright.

Maybe she was right about that, but regardless, Jessie was still failing to recognize the most pressing factor in James' drive to get going. She thought she had this all planned to perfection, but James couldn't believe that she was completely unperturbed by the sight of Pikachu. Jessie _had_ to know that delivering one of the boss' most sought-after prizes in such deplorable shape would reflect poorly on them. And they really could not afford any more black marks.

James didn't even want to envision what could happen if they _did_ wait too long, if it got to a point where Pikachu was too far gone...

As that horrifying thought unwillingly seized his mind, James was on his feet in a flash. "But what about Pikachu?!"

Jessie flinched, startled by James' abruptness. He thrust a shaky finger in the direction of Pikachu's cage.

"Look at Pikachu!" he cried in his high voice. "Can't you see he's not okay? We have to get him out of here, Jessie! He's getting sick!"

James could have sworn he saw a flicker of concern cross Jessie's features as she threw a quick look at Pikachu's crate, but when her eyes angled back on James, she could not have looked any more blasé.

"Pikachu's fine," she said.

James was taken aback, not just by her response, but by the untroubled way it was delivered. He struggled for a second before exclaiming, "But he doesn't _look_ fine!"

"He _is_ fine. You're worrying too much again," Jessie said, slightly condescendingly.

"But—but he hasn't eaten! He hasn't gotten up! He doesn't look good!" James gestured frantically at Pikachu. He just didn't get it—what was she seeing? Or _not_ seeing, rather? "He—he..."

_He looks like he's dying_, he almost said, but somehow, he just couldn't bear to disclose that. Maybe because it still seemed so absurd, even to him.

"_He's fine_," Jessie leaned forward to emphasize again. "He's not sick, James. Don't you see? He's purposely not eating or getting up. He thinks he's so damn smart, but he'll snap out of it. When he gets hungry enough, he'll suck it up and eat."

She sounded so certain, so secure in her interpretation. James wanted to trust her, at least to subdue his nagging fears, but another reluctant check on Pikachu, and he knew his worries were not unfounded, and not going away anytime soon. Even if she was accurate and Pikachu was doing a credible job of making himself look as sorry as possible, it still didn't eliminate the other factors threatening everything they had achieved thus far. They were simply not in the position to be so confident.

How in the world was he going to convince her of this, though? Without her taking his head off in the process?

"Jess, I hate to break it to ya, but I'm with Jimmy on dis one!"

Despite his alliance, James was surprised by Meowth's sudden declaration. The cat made an agile leap from the windowsill to the table holding Pikachu's crate. Disturbed by the unexpected approach, Pikachu's head jolted up, but he lowered it barely a second later, sapped and indifferent that he was being dragged into the center of yet another clash.

"I've been waitin' long enough, sittin' around in this crummy old house!" he groused, tiny arms outstretched. "You got to have your fun! Now it's time ta shove off!"

Jessie nearly rolled her eyes. "We aren't going anywhere right now."

"Oh yeah?! Who died and made you boss?!"

"Nobody needed to die. Now how 'bout instead of flapping your gums, you make yourself useful and try to get Pikachu to eat something?"

"I got a better idea! How's about you quit messin' around with that buncha sticks so we can get outta here and finally get credit for capturing Pikachu?!"

"How about you cram a sock in it?!" seethed Jessie, slamming her fist into the floor. James flinched. Jessie never took well to people challenging her, but this time it was almost as if opposing her mischievous plan was hitting a very sensitive nerve in her. She was getting defensive, viciously so.

Suddenly, she was off the floor, probably realizing that fighting her two partners while they were towering over her head was not giving her the advantage she required.

"Look, I know you two think I'm just fooling around and wasting time and giving the twerps every opportunity to find us," she said crossly. "But don't you understand we can't _go_ anywhere right now? We can't leave here, with them searching all over for us! Who knows where they are right now? We could start making our way to headquarters and run right smack into them! Any direction we'd go in, they could be there! And what would we do then? Try to fight them off with our pokémon and lose just like we always do?!"

James couldn't deny that regrettable truth. He attempted to agree, if only to calm her down, but Jessie wasn't done.

"I know what we're doing right now," she maintained assertively. "In fact, I almost wish the twerps _would_ come here and search the house! We could hide up in the attic and they'd see Pikachu isn't here and leave and never know! We'd be able to spend the rest of the day somewhat in peace!

"We can't leave yet, though," she added rapidly. "Not in the daytime we can't. Even if we didn't run into them, I'm sure the brat's got tons of people and pokémon helping him out there. We probably have a bigger bulls-eye on us than you think. Our best option at this point is to leave at night. I've realized that, why can't you?!"

"We _do_ realize that," James intersected, almost pleadingly, because he really _did_. "It's—it's just this whole _'scary movie'_ thing..."

"That's just for fun," Jessie upheld quickly, narrowing her eyes. "That's not what's keeping us here."

"But it did last night!"

"It was mostly the weather that kept us here," she argued, jabbing a finger at him. "The rocks were supposed to be distraction. Well...and a parting gift." She couldn't fight the fiendish grin away.

"A parting gift that you needed to poisonaly watch dem open!" Meowth pointed out hotly.

The smile fell instantly from Jessie's face as she faltered at that detail. "...Okay, fine, so maybe we should have left after leaving the rocks," she owned up. "I gave into my craving to see the twerps' reaction, I admit it. But that's not what's going to happen this time. We _are_ leaving tonight; I promise."

James found he wasn't in a position to oppose. Though hardly ideal, what Jessie was saying was true. Leaving right then _wasn't_ a wise move. For all they knew, the boy could have had all of his Pallet cronies on the lookout, not to mention the authorities. The alert could have extended outside of Pallet, as well. Leaving at night was simply their only option. In the meantime, he'd just have to find a way to settle his nerves, convince himself everything would be all right. They would make it through the rest of the day—they _would_.

"After we leave _this_ in their yard, of course!" Jessie then proclaimed. She held out the object she'd been working on at arm's length and gazed at it proudly while James and Meowth nearly fell over.

"Are you crazy?!" the cat cried incredulously.

"Jessie, you just said we weren't going to leave anything else in the yard!" blared James, eyes wide. There went keeping calm and confident!

"I did not!" Jessie countered irately. "I just said we weren't going to _stick around_ to see their reaction! I still want them to get it! You think I sat around for an hour making this for nothing?!"

"Who cares!" spat Meowth. "If we gotta stay here all day, den we're laying low! Dat means no more props!"

"Jessie, I agree with you that we shouldn't leave until nighttime," James gave her frantically. "But you can't be serious about going back to the house and leaving that on their front yard!"

"Why not?!"

_Because it's not smart! _James somehow caught himself before this came out. He didn't even know why he was stopping himself. Jessie was acting so preposterous now that she deserved to be told straight-up.

"Because I can't see how that would possibly help us!" he alternated. He panted, winded by his panic.

Jessie's mouth opened to retaliate, but the words seemed arrested on her tongue. She grasped her precious object in a tight fist, bringing it in close to her heart almost protectively. James hoped she was finally coming to her senses, realizing the serious danger behind what she was doing through his latest effort.

But instead, her face gradually darkened, and James was on the receiving end of one contemptibly defiant stare.

"Okay," she said, ominously calm. "You don't want me to put this out tonight? Fine." She began to casually stroll toward the hallway. "I'll put it out now then."

James reeled. "_Now_?!" he shrieked.

"Wow, you've really flipped your lid, haven't ya?" Meowth gasped.

"Jessie, no, stop!" James implored when she was practically out the door, leaping over to her and grasping her arm. "You can't!"

Violently, Jessie wrenched herself from his grip and rounded on him. "Yes, I can! Watch me!"

"Please!" he begged. "You know this isn't a smart thing to do!" There, he said it. "Why are you trying to lose this mission for us?!"

Jessie's jaw dropped. "I'm not trying to do any such thing, and I'm _offended_ you even said that!" she spewed. "What is wrong with you?! We've had the upper hand this entire time, James. Those brats are not going to win! For once, we've put together a plan that's going to work. And not only is it going to work, but it's going to be damn _satisfying_, too!"

She thrust the object in his face. Significant to her, for James, it was nothing more than a mess of twigs and material. If it weren't for her overpowering presence, he would've had half a mind to grab the clump and toss it out the window. The insatiable, livid urge made his every muscle convulse.

"This _will_ help us," Jessie continued firmly. "We've been watching them too carefully these last few days for you to doubt that. You know the girl is terrified of the witch. You know they're gullible and liable to fall for anything that has to do with that movie. When they see this, it's going to scare the shit out of them. They're _not_ going to want to leave the house. It won't be like the rocks. I _know_ it. This is different. _This_ is going to give us a better chance to finally escape."

She backed out of James' space, her expression daring him to object. James wanted to, badly—wanted to scream a completely fair and justified _"How do you know that?!"_, but refrained. It wouldn't change her mind. So long as he stopped her from marching out of the house, that was all that was presently important. He prayed she wasn't serious about that just then. It was obviously a ploy to get him to stop testing her. And for a moment, he was sure it worked.

Except then, it appeared as though a light bulb illuminated in Jessie's brain. The look that suddenly took over her face, an elevated expression of_ ah-ha!_, dove its way to the pit of James' stomach. Trembling, he could only dread what had suddenly seized her so excitedly.

"What...?" he asked distrustfully.

Tilting her head at her partner, Jessie's smile broadened, the rage she displayed toward him not a second ago gone. "Sometimes I'm just _amazed_ at the fabulous ideas that pop into my head!"

Meowth evidently shared James' hesitation. "What are you tinkin' _this_ time?"

Jessie held up the stick construction. "Wouldn't it be great if we _could_ leave this for the twerps now?"

James paled. "...You're joking."

To his relief, her enthusiasm seemed to promptly dissolve, and Jessie shrugged. "I suppose I am," she replied resignedly. "But think—if we only could somehow leave this for them before they got back...that would _really_ do it! They'd never expect it! They'd be so terrified they wouldn't think twice about daring to leave again! We wouldn't have to wait till dark to put this out! We could be on our way to headquarters as soon as the sun went down!"

As her voice rose hungrily with each word, James could only gawp at her like an aghast slowpoke. This was a bad, bad, _wacky_ dream, wasn't it? This wasn't Jessie; this wasn't his partner whose ideas always impressed him, whose dedication to their mission inspired him. This was someone who had lost it, someone whose quest for retribution had triumphed over her rational. James felt so powerless and hopeless in that instant. If only he had someone who could rectify this, rescue him, reclaim the task...

"You want dat stupid ting on the twoips' lawn now? I'll do it!"

And just like that, the dream got wackier.

"What?!" James gasped, spinning to watch as Meowth hopped to the floor and strode over to Jessie. "Meowth!"

Jessie seemed just as stunned, but the sparkle of excitement returned to her eyes. "Meowth?"

The pokémon jumped up and snatched the object from her hand. "I'll do it," he reiterated, though angrily. "Anyting to get us outta here fasta tonight!"

"But Meowth, you _can't_!" James cried, alarm awash in his voice. His heart pounded in his ears. "They'll see you!"

"No dey won't; I'll be careful," the cat promised. A proud smirk crept to his face and his chin cocked upward. "Don't forget, part of what we meowth do best is slink true the bushes and keep outta sight! I'm da poifect one for dis job."

Jessie clapped her hands gleefully. "Meowth, I don't know what to say! You're really going to do this?"

James wanted to repeat the same question, but in exactly the opposite tone.

"Yeah, but don't tink I'm doin' it for fun!" Meowth replied. Judging by the fierceness in his eyes, it didn't look like he was lying. "I'm doin' it for _security_! I still tink this is a crazy idea, but if you ain't gonna stop insistin' on it, den I'm not gonna let anyone handle it but _me_! If we did it your way, we'd be dere again till the sun rose, waitin' to see dem discover it!"

No offense taken from Jessie from these remarks. Probably because she knew they were true. "You're going to go now?"

"_Yeah_." It came out so begrudgingly, but that did nothing to satisfy James, still confused and wounded over Meowth's change of heart.

"Meowth, please don't!" he objected.

"It's okay," Meowth assured him. He eyed the object in his paws. "Dis'll be a piece of cake. I know just how to get to da twoips' house without being anywhere in da open. I couldn't say da same for Jessie."

He suddenly turned on the girl, fixing her a glare. "Dis is it, though!" he warned sternly. "I'll do dis, but as soon as it gets dark tonight, we're _leavin'_!"

Nodding her head once in agreement, Jessie beamed. "It's a deal!"

James stood numbly watching this transaction play out. He was speechless. So much for Meowth's allegiance. Truth be told, though, if Jessie _had_ to get her way, this was the best method in which it could happen. While definitely not foolproof, James had more confidence that Meowth could achieve this task much more effectively than he or Jessie ever could.

But while shocked by the turn of events, there was something a bit more unexpected cropping up. Lifting, oddly, was his anxiety—slowly away like a light fog in the hot morning sun. Confusing though it was, all he felt left with now was apathy. It was most likely his helplessness in the situation that was driving this new sentiment, the overwhelming feeling of defeat. Becoming more so, however, was weariness. James didn't _want_ to stress anymore. Suddenly, he realized he didn't want to care.

If Jessie wanted to throw away this operation, the most successful one they'd ever had, then so be it. Add another loss to the long and embarrassing list they'd already assembled. Just another day in the life.

They still could get away with it; it could still work out marvelously in their favor, but James wasn't going to burden himself any longer with the suspense of the outcome.

As Meowth exited the room, on his way to carry out the insane mission that Jessie had plotted, James took one more look at Pikachu. The mouse's eyes were closed now; by all hope, he was just sleeping. James didn't have the nerve to rush over there to check. Sadness weighed down his heart. He felt sorry for himself, but at that moment he felt even sorrier for Pikachu. It wasn't fair what Jessie was doing to her teammates, but it was doubly unfair of what she was doing to Pikachu. It was bad enough being snatched from your owner and your home, but to be so mistreated was something entirely merciless.

A tiny part of him itched to release the pokémon. Abort the plan altogether, in spite of Jessie, try another day. But he knew Jessie wouldn't allow that to happen. She'd fight James for everything she was worth, and she would win. A blow to his self-worth, it pained him indignantly to know that his partner had such an upper hand on their doings. Unless he abandoned her and Meowth, he was trapped in a situation he had very little control over.

Feeling as if he could cry, James did his best to ignore Jessie by keeping his gaze sadly on the imprisoned mouse. _Hang in there, Pikachu_, he bid him spiritually. _It'll be better soon—however it happens._

* * *

The weather was turning out to be more than just cooperative—it was absolutely perfect. There was still a distinct crispness to the air, but the sun was strong and warm, quickly soaking up the remaining moisture from the prior day's storms and allowing the breeze to take fallen leaves skittering down front walks and dancing across lawns. Color abounded, the foliage not far from peak. Up above, dozens of swellow streaked across the sky, swooping in play and calling loudly to each other. The scent of autumn was unrepentantly present.

Jay was spending time with his son. One could have even gone so far as to call it "quality" time.

On any other occasion, it would have been an idyllic outing.

Alas, it was hard to classify it as such with a dire matter tainting the mood. Touring the peaceful neighborhood on such a beautiful late morning (on a workday, no less) with just his kid was something Jay would consider awesome, if only for the fact that it seldom had the opportunity to happen. Ironically, the last time they most likely did something like this was on a Halloween, many, many years ago when the only thing Ash was in search of was his favorite candy, not his most cherished pokémon.

Jay was searching for the right chance and the right way to break it to Ash that what they were doing was not going to result in finding Pikachu.

Although his son had calmed down considerably, Jay was well aware that Ash was a smoldering volcano of emotions. He hated to acknowledge that he was afraid of fracturing that shaky foundation yet again, seeing as how Jay felt it was his duty to man up and deliver Ash the reality check, but nonetheless he gave in to the weakness...for now.

And after an hour of watching his son go from door to door, hope deflated and then renewed as the next house presented a fresh possibility, he truly struggled to believe that Ash wasn't getting clued in himself.

_Why didn't I just let Misty and Brock do this?_ he bemoaned. They had been so ready and motivated to reveal their hunch to Ash, and yet Jay had insisted on doing it himself. Well, some decision that had been. Instead of steering Ash in the right direction, no matter how rough it would have been, Jay was busy taking note of how his house stacked up against this part of the community's, who got into the Halloween spirit the most, the number of people who had crazy pokémon go into a fit the minute the doorbell rang.

It was easy to fall into distraction. It was convenient. But even though Jay realized this and it bothered him, any time he went to say something, tell Ash he was on the wrong course, he couldn't find the heart to do so.

_You gotta do it_, he warned himself. _You're letting them down. You're letting _him_ down. You're not doing this the right way. You have to say something!_

However, when Ash approached a front door, his expression equal parts apprehension and resolve, Jay could only pause and watch. At times, he was awestruck at his son's demeanor. For a kid who had a meltdown on average every twelve hours in the past two days, and not to mention had a fuse that of a firecracker, Jay couldn't get over how mannerly Ash conducted himself when conversing with the Pallet folk. Well-spoken, polite, and collected, it was quite the change from the hysterical Ash he'd been dealing with. As Ash inquired if they had seen a loose pikachu recently, elaborated on the situation when asked, and sadly but maturely accepted the answer he wasn't seeking, Jay was floored with pride. He never said a word unless he was addressed, leaving all the work to Ash, who was doing a tremendous job with it all by himself.

It was also quite humbling to realize just how well-known Ash was. It shouldn't have come as any surprise, bearing in mind how successful his son was in a town with no great claim to fame for churning out abundant talent. A hint of appreciation would grace Ash's face when a homeowner not only recognized him but knew of Pikachu as well, and showered the boy with praise at his accomplishments while also letting him down as lightly as possible. No one had Pikachu. No one had seen Pikachu. But, oh, how they hoped Ash found him! He was his greatest and most exciting asset!

Like Ash needed to be reminded of that. The pain was so evident on the boy's face as he tried desperately to mask it with a brave and modest smile. He thanked the resident, oftentimes with a sir or ma'am (_sir or ma'am_! This was _his_ kid?!), and, sometimes with a heavy pause, made his way to the next house wordlessly.

_C'mon, Ash_, Jay encouraged mentally, again wondering why not out-loud. _You know Pikachu isn't here. You _know _it, kid._

Whether Ash knew or not, he seemed intent on making sure he asked every single one of the small town's residents. Personally. And he wasn't even getting off to that fantastic of a start. Half of the doorbells he rang yielded no answer. Jay could tell Ash was aggravated by this, and when the boy's face grew tight and flushed enough, Jay would gently chime in.

"They're probably at work, you know," he'd say. "It is Tuesday."

Ash would stare at the door or at the ground for a moment, then slowly nod his head. Every once in a while, he would take a deep, deep breath that sort of unsettled Jay. What was that for? Too keep from crying? Screaming? Collapsing? The concerned father only observed. His boy was not in good shape, and in that Jay found true purpose in his chaperoning. Ash didn't need help in his inquiries, but he _did_ need someone there to take care of him.

It was only a matter of time before Jay pulled the plug on this operation. Only a matter of time.

After speaking with a woman who seemed awfully irked at being disturbed and wasn't quite as sympathetic (Jay had trouble holding his tongue this time, fighting the urge to give her a sizzling piece of his mind when he saw the reaction it triggered in Ash), Jay hoped if this was where his son would finally throw in the towel. But as soon as Ash promptly started for the next house, leaving his father in his dust, Jay realized how stupid a thought that was. If anything, the woman's sour attitude probably encouraged his boy's stubbornness all the more.

Ash was halfway up the front walk of the adjoining residence when he suddenly slowed to a crawl. Jay arched a puzzled eye; this was the first time his son had hesitated before any doorstep. Curiously, he watched as Ash stood deathly still, arms drooped at his sides, his sad eyes roaming the exterior of the house.

"What?" Jay finally ventured.

"I like their decorations," Ash answered, his voice perking slightly but still dragging a sober tone.

Taken aback by his surprising remark, Jay blinked and took a gander at what Ash was referring to. Indeed, this house truly emanated the holiday spirit. The bushes were done up meticulously in spider web. A pretty realistic-looking set of gravestones was arranged haphazardly but believably across the front lawn, with a few skeletal hands protruding from the bases. Decorations hung liberally in the two large bay windows on either side of the front door, a red-eyed, sinister crobat in one and a devilishly grinning ghoul in the other. This was not tame décor. It was probably the most impressive display they'd seen all morning.

Jay gave an applauding nod but kept it somewhat subdued. His insides, meanwhile, were clamoring with relief that Ash had spoken about something other than Pikachu. It was the first time this has really happened since he'd gone missing. Jay didn't exactly want Ash to start becoming apathetic to the situation, of course, but it was a comfort to see that his kid was still reachable enough to be moved by the less weighty things surrounding him.

"Yeah, they're pretty good," Jay said. "Sure blow ours away, huh? We could do this, though—I could see it."

"Mmhmm," replied Ash absently.

"Maybe we'll one-up them for Thanksgiving," Jay joked. He was disappointed but not surprised when Ash's face hardly twitched in response.

Decoration ogling was apparently over, and Ash continued up to the home's stoop and pushed the doorbell. Jay scuffed his foot along the gravel by the side of the road while they waited in silence. He hoped the resident here was at least _nice_. How could they not be, though, with this spooky exhibit? Surely they were going to be receptive to dozens of trick-or-treaters in a couple days.

No one was coming to the door, though. Like he'd done needlessly other times, Ash rang the doorbell a second time. Jay disliked that, but didn't say a thing; it was human instinct to try again. His attention drifted to the driveway, where a car was parked. It looked like someone was home. Maybe they didn't hear the bell at first...

Half a minute later, there was still no response. Ash was starting to get impatient, his head craning to sneak a peak in the windows...which, unfortunately, didn't heed much as they were obstructed by the hanging props. Jay sighed and ambled closer.

"Ash," he started, about to coax him away from the house...maybe from the neighborhood, maybe from this futile approach.

His son spun around, visibly disgruntled. "Why aren't they answering? They're home!"

Jay drooped. "Not necessarily..."

"Yes, they are! The car is here!"

"That doesn't mean they're home, son," Jay replied with a pacifying voice. "They could be out for a walk, or...or they could've gotten picked up by someone..."

"Or they could just not be answering the door!"

It was possible, though Jay did want to give these people the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn't blame them, either, if they were wary of opening the door. How often was there a teenage boy on the front stoop and a man standing in the road on a random weekday morning, sans a clipboard or an armful of sellable goods? Not answering could prove a less awkward situation.

As if he could clarify that for Ash...or wanted to. Jay absolutely dreaded the thought of setting him off. It seemed imminent, though, and with none of the other kids there to help tamper Ash's mood, Jay could only prep himself for the undertaking this could be. He wasn't exactly looking forward to dragging Ash kicking and screaming away from the house or...well, anywhere for that matter.

_This has gotta end._

Ash didn't share the same thought, sadly. All of a sudden, he began banging on the glass storm door, the noisy clatter piercing the calm morning air. Jay cringed, horrified.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted frantically, scrambling over to halt his son from the unexpected and uncalled-for act. "Ash! What are you doing?! Stop it!"

"No!" he barked. "They're home and they're not answering the door!" He started beating on the pane again, but it was harder to get in as many knocks this time as his father went to grab a hold of his flying fist to impede him.

"Ash, stop it! C'mon!" Jay growled as he quickly found himself failing to restrain the boy's drastic wrath. Each time his fingers tried to clasp his wrist, Ash tore himself away or used his other fist to get another loud, clumsy slam in. Jay was freaking with panic and mortification. How did the kid go from the courteous young man he'd been so proud of to _this_?

"_He's not in his right mind right now_," he heard his wife's voice echo in his head. Well, holy Moltres, that was for sure, but Jay wasn't about to let that reasoning lead to the cops being called!

"Ash! C'MON!" At the risk of having Ash's fist connect with his face rather than the door, Jay threw himself in front of the boy and seized both of his forearms, forcing him off and away from the stoop. Suffice to say, Ash was not pleased with this hindrance, and instantly fought back, squirming and pushing aggressively against his father to get back to the door.

"Dad! No! Let me go!" he snarled. As he thrashed about, Jay's grip tightened. He couldn't believe it. For such a small kid, the power behind his resistance was astonishing, and Jay found himself under the pressure of keeping Ash's fit at bay while being conscious enough not to hurt him in the process.

"Hey, come on! Knock it off! What's gotten into you?!" he demanded, more of a concerned plea than a rebuke.

"They gotta open the door!" Ash cried. "I have to get in there!"

He was twisting himself in the most ungodly ways, pulling and yanking against Jay's clutch so violently that Jay was petrified the kid was going to break his own arms. His panic surging at the thought, Jay released his arms but quickly latched on to his shoulders, detaining him more firmly in place. He could just imagine the bruises the poor guy could get from all of this, but what else could Jay do. There was no way in hell he was going to let Ash go to wreak whatever damage he was capable of with such uninhibited rage, both to the property and himself.

"ASH!" he shouted, giving him a rough shake. "Calm down, NOW! You're going crazy!"

"I have to get in there!" Ash insisted again.

"No, you don't! Now stop it!"

"No, I have to!" he sobbed, shaking his head fiercely. His struggles were weakening, though, Jay's solid hold effectively preventing him from doing nothing but exhausting himself. Ash must have realized this, because his face was starting to contort in even more despair. "I have to! _LEMME GO_!"

"I'm not letting you go till you stop!" Jay yelled, shaking him again. Ash was really frightening him now. He needed to settle him down before the entire neighborhood was out of their houses to witness the scene—or worse, get involved.

"But they have him!" Ash professed. Jay's eyes widened. "They have Pikachu!"

Jay's heart was hammering. Where in the world did Ash get _that_ idea? It was at that moment he realized his son had lost it—he was deranged with grief, fabricating scenarios in his head and believing them, no matter how speculative they were. The impulsive, fretful reaction burst from Jay's mouth with hardly a moment of forethought.

"No, they don't!" he thundered. "They don't have Pikachu! Pikachu is _not_ in there!"

That certainly got his son's attention. At once, Ash froze, his round, shaken eyes blazing into his father's hard ones.

"He's not in any of these houses!" Jay reiterated desperately. His fingers dug into at Ash's shoulders. "He's _not here_, Ash! He's not here! Now _stop it_!"

The boy didn't say a thing, didn't move a muscle. He just gaped at his father, mouth hanging open, face lit with shock.

_Oh, shit._ Jay's blood was racing, realizing what he had just been provoked to say to wrench Ash from his delirium. He'd reined his son in, which needed to be done, but he most likely did so by shattering his trust in the process. His mind in disarray, Jay scrambled for the very crucial and sensitive follow-up he knew he'd have to deliver, and fast.

Before he could utter a word, though, Jay noticed that Ash suddenly wasn't looking so good. He was going pale—sickly pale. His eyes dropped to the ground, as though he was becoming lost in a daze, and his breathing turned heavy and laborious. His entire body was rising and falling noticeably beneath Jay's hands.

Distressed by his son's swift transformation, Jay released his shoulders and stepped back, giving him space. "What's the matter?" he asked worriedly. Ash didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at the ground and breathed.

"Ash...?"

Ash turned to the side and proceeded to release the contents of his stomach in ferocious fashion on the lawn.

"Aggh! Oh, no!" Jay groaned, wincing. "Aww, Ash..."

Though he'd gotten rid of what little was in him rather quickly, Ash continued to cough and heave. Jay stood by, brow knit in sympathy. That was so unanticipated, but at the same time, it really wasn't. He felt so sorry for his boy, but even more, he felt uneasy. Was this his fault? Had he been too rough with Ash? He hadn't meant to shake him as hard as he did, but he had to snap Ash out of his frenzy _somehow_. He hadn't meant to make the kid sick!

As it often did, Jay let his guilt prompt the call for a joke. "You know, usually when people don't open the door at Halloween, kids throw eggs. Or put a flaming bag of pokémon crap on the stoop. You, uh...you just had to take it one step further, didn't ya?"

Ash was still hunched over, done vomiting but looking pretty miserable. He spit a couple of times, trying to rid his mouth of the wretched taste. "Ewww," he whimpered.

Jay frowned caringly and placed a much gentler hand on Ash's shoulder. "You alright there, bud? What happened?"

Righting himself haggardly, Ash reached up to swipe at his wet eyes. The color had returned to his face through brightly blushing cheeks, but he appeared wan and depleted, as though the slightest breeze would topple him right over. Jay was compelled to hoist the boy into his arms and bring him home immediately, but he wasn't quite sure yet if that would just result in another tussle. Ash certainly couldn't withstand one right now, and emotionally, Jay couldn't, either.

"Got upset," Ash mumbled in reply. He took a deep breath. "'m fine."

Jay pursed his lips. He highly doubted that, but he kept quiet. It was nice, at the moment, just to find relief in the dramatic change in Ash's behavior. Although it felt mean to admit it, Jay was somewhat glad the kid had thrown up. It was a sedative, if nothing else. Perhaps, he thought with aching hope, it was going to make his job easier in the next few minutes when he had to elaborate on—albeit more gingerly—the bad news he'd so brusquely broken.

"HEYYY!"

Unless, of course, there was another distraction! The two Ketchums' heads jolted up as a high-pitched voice suddenly rang out from down the street. Jay recognized it instantly with a sense of dismay, and his stomach clenched the moment he saw Misty and Brock jogging their way over to them. Gee, this was swell, wasn't it? A little too late, but also a little too soon.

Ash didn't seem fazed much by his friends' arrival. He just stood, wallowing in his zone of fatigue and unhappiness. His state appeared to draw Misty quicker, as she all of a sudden distanced herself from Brock with ease.

"Ash!" she cried restlessly. "Did you just throw up?!" She skid to a halt before them, and with one look answered her own question. "Omigod, you threw up!"

"I'm okay," Ash drawled, though his gravelly voice didn't do much to validate that.

"Yeah, we just got a little worked up here," Jay sang, reaching out to knead Ash's shoulder. "Everything's alright."

"Where have you guys been?" Brock inquired. "We ate breakfast and waited. We thought you were coming right home, but you didn't."

"Dad's been helping me ask if people've seen Pikachu," Ash revealed. Jay's breath seized painfully in his lungs, and he did everything he could from face-palming. Oh, _Ashton_. What the hell?! Wasn't the kid feeling sick? Why was he so ambitious to talk? And throw his father under the damn bus so offhandedly?

He couldn't blame Ash, of course. He was innocent, unaware of Jay's earlier conversation with Misty and Brock. It still didn't take away from the fact that he'd just done a brilliant job of putting him on the defensive. Jay could feel Misty and Brock's eyes on him in an instant, the mood promptly shifting to one commanding explanation. Misty's gawk in particular, when Jay dared to make eye-contact with the girl, was a piercing laser of shock and disapproval that actually sent a chill through him.

_God, that'll melt steel_, he cringed internally. _Poor Ash..._

"Well, we're coming home now," he swiftly said, praying it would appease the older kids for the time being. He felt a bit callous for switching sides so forwardly, but he knew he was doing the right thing for everyone involved, Ash especially.

Oddly, though, his son seemed to be in the most agreement...almost _decisively_ so. "Yeah, good," he endorsed. His voice had regained a bit of its strength. "I gotta get my stuff."

Jay's eyes squinted suspiciously. "What stuff?"

Ash looked up at him matter-of-factly. "My stuff," he repeated. "My bag—everything. I...I gotta go look for Pikachu. You said...you said he isn't here. So I'm gonna go."

Okay. Jay had to be honest: He had anticipated anger from his son—refutation, another clash, outright inflexible refusal. Not...bizarrely straightforward accord. Yet here Ash was, voicing a solemn and composed declaration, just as out of the blue as his conniption not ten minutes before.

Had Ash thrown up his operation along with his breakfast?

"...I really thought he'd be here," Ash went on softly, shakily. He glanced down and away, his already afflicted eyes starting to shine with tears. Jay realized he'd forgotten a very legitimate consequence of this epiphany: sorrow. Ash bit his lip in a vain attempt to curtail the unwelcome emotion. "But...he isn't, I guess. I know he isn't. Someone here would've brought 'im back. They would've brought 'im back to me." His gaze zeroed in on his friends imploringly. "...Wouldn't they've?"

"...Ash..." Misty, frowning consolably, stepped forward.

"He didn't run away," Ash added in avowal, an edge suddenly to his voice. "He'd never run away; I know that. Which means someone _has_ him. A-and if they aren't here...then—then I gotta go. I gotta go find him."

"But Ash," Misty tried again. She hesitated warily, fumbling to relay what to say next. "...You're _sick_."

Ash scowled, goaded by her remark. "I told you, I'm okay, Misty! I'm not sick—I just got upset, that's all! I'm fine now."

"I dunno, Ash..." Jay was reluctant, but pressed to concur. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

This time, Jay drew the defiance he'd foreseen. "I'm _okay_!" Ash attested angrily. "You just said I was!"

"Yeah, I know I did, but I didn't...I didn't think you were going to just _leave_," reasoned Jay honestly. Come to think of it, though, what _had_ he expected? Telling Ash that Pikachu wasn't in Pallet Town wasn't exactly the formula to get the kid to lie low for the next few days, much less _hours_. But Misty's worry was now in the forefront of his mind; regardless of how Ash _thought_ he felt, he clearly wasn't in prime health to be departing on an unmapped search mission.

Ash was glaring at him objectionably, making Jay flustered. "I _have _to leave, Dad! You said he's not here! So I have to find him!"

"I understand, but Misty's right, son," Jay entreated. "You're not well. Just come home for a while and rest—"

"Yeah, Ash," Brock cut in ardently. "I really don't know if you're ready to go out looking for Team Rocket and—"

Ash turned on his friend so dizzyingly fast Jay balked. "What?!" he exclaimed.

Brock, quickly realizing what he'd just done, clamped his mouth shut and visibly braced. Everyone, in fact, was rendered still, a suffocating suspense permeating in the air from the perfunctory slip.

_Ayyy...nice going, Brock_, Jay grimaced. As if he had the right to be critical, though. He hadn't exactly done such a good job of being judicious with Ash himself. Then again, Ash _did_ have a way of inciting the most impetuous eye-openers, didn't he? While it wasn't exactly the smoothest way to break this news to Ash, he did empathize with Brock. Really, at his point, what other choice did they have in proceeding?

"_Brock_!" Ash snapped, intolerant of his friend's reticence. "What do you mean Team Rocket has him? How do you know that?!" His voice cracked with disparaging appeal.

Brock must have shared Jay's sense of resignation, for he recovered with gritty gumption. "Ash," he said low and pointedly, "who _else_ would have him?"

By the way Ash was panting, Jay feared the kid was about to vomit again—or haul off and belt Brock one. He would've have been surprised with either. To say Ash was besieged by all these bombshells was an understatement—though Jay still believed that, beneath all the denial and hope, none of this was that earth-shattering to Ash. How _could_ it be?

Shockingly (in the last half-hour, what wasn't?), Ash had nothing more to ascertain from Brock, and whirled to face his father. "Dad, take me home. Right now, please," he beseeched urgently.

"We are going home," Jay stammered, "but..." He sighed loudly. "You really, _really_ shouldn't just run out of here—"

"I'm not waiting around!" Ash screamed.

Jay threw his arms out wide. "Ash, even if I told you okay, there's no way your mother is going to let you go anywhere after you got sick!"

Ash gave him a revolted look. "Why does Mom have to know I got sick?!"

"Are you kidding?" Jay huffed, almost humorously. "You think Mom's _not_ going to find out?"

"She won't find out if no one tells her!"

Not knowing how to respond to that without adding fuel to the inferno, Jay just rubbed at his temple distractedly. Was it too much to ask to be put in a position that _wasn't_ difficult? Of course Delia was going to find out what happened to Ash—and it _had_ to come from him. It was unavoidable. If he didn't tell her and she found out, her anger would be ten times that of her son's.

Lose-lose situations were his absolute _favorite_.

"Just—fine. Let's just go home," Jay said exasperatedly. It satisfied Ash, thank goodness. Looking like he felt his warning was effectively made, he took off in the direction of the car. Misty and Brock threw Jay one more fruitless look and followed. For a moment, Jay stayed rooted in place, trying to reinstate calm in his overwrought body and raging mind. God, did he ever want all of this to be over. He didn't know how much more he could take.

If they did find Team Rocket, and they were responsible for this, he was going to kill them. The frightening desire was so strong Jay quickly took a deep breath to suppress it. He knew he needed to keep it together, and that certainly meant not harboring irrational thoughts. They all needed him to be strong and composed—Ash, especially. He was fairly certain he was not going to be his son's preferred person in the near future, but it was a sacrifice Jay was willing to make in the face of the larger picture: the child's ultimate well-being.

Oh, how the next half-hour was ever going to be a blast!

Jay took one more glance at the unfortunate mess Ash left behind. They really could've used the rain today, he mused sardonically.

_Trick-or-treat!_ Jay smirked to himself as he hastened to catch up to the kids.

* * *

Like the last time, Ash was the first to spot it. It was no coincidence, though; he hardly gave anyone else a fighting chance to make the initial discovery as he was out of the car before his father barely had it in park. But even in a frenzy over what had developed in the last half-hour, his mind a cyclone of panic and determination, there was no way Ash could fail to spot the object awaiting the unsuspecting returnees.

As if his distressed body could handle it, Ash's stomach lurched as he gawped in incredulous dismay at the compactly-wrapped article before him. Much like the rocks, whoever—or whatever—had placed it there obviously did so with the intention of being noticed. It was smack in the center of the front walk, conspicuous and, again, identifiable. Frighteningly identifiable.

He didn't utter a word, but his friends knew something was wrong. Why else would he halt in his tracks so drastically when he'd made it strikingly clear nothing was going to delay the next phase of his mission?

The moment Misty and Brock saw what Ash did, the thought Pikachu or Team Rocket effectively left _everyone's_ minds.

Misty gasped loudly, her hands flying straight to her dropped jaw.

Brock's face wrinkled in confusion. "What is that?"

Jay was beside them in a beat. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," he moaned.

For what seemed like an eternity, the flabbergasted four stared at the bundle on the walk, a petite assortment of sticks and twigs wrapped almost daintily in a yellow paisley material. For anyone who hadn't seen _The Blair Witch Project_, it might have even appeared cute.

To Misty, the only thing more horrifying than what she was seeing was the grisly thought of what could be wrapped up inside it.

"Where did that come from?" Jay followed dreadfully.

Brock shook his head. "I don't know, but that _wasn't_ here when we left," he testified. Realizing it to be true, Misty started shaking her head, too. "That was not here. A-and we only left like fifteen minutes ago!"

Having heard the car pull up, Delia was quick to appear at the door. The sight of her family suspended at the end of the walkway threw her off, but it only took an instant for her to track their dumbfounded gazes. She frowned as her eyes landed on the mystery object.

"What's that?" No one answered, on account of the fact no one _knew_. Aside from, of course, the awareness of what it was _supposed_ to be...what it _could_ be, what it could contain...

"Ash?" Jay bid, his hands scrubbing at his face. "Tell me. Can you think of anyone who'd be doing this?"

His eyes not leaving the bundle, Ash just shook his head numbly.

"Think. Please. Do you have any friends here—anyone you can think of—who might be...doing this?"

"Ummm..."

"Gary? What about Gary?"

Certain of the first thing in a long while, Ash shook his head swiftly. "No. No, Gary's away. He's on his journey."

"Tracey? What about him?"

Ash huffed. "I'd think Professor Oak did this before I'd think Tracey."

"Tracey wouldn't do this," Misty agreed, voice wobbly but secure with conviction. "He—he knows what's going on. He wouldn't!"

"He wouldn't do it regardless," Brock vouched.

"Did you happen to see anything?" Jay turned to Delia. "They swear this wasn't here when they left."

Folding her arms around her waist, Delia shook her head. "No. I was in the kitchen—I—I didn't see anything out here."

"Great," Jay grumbled.

All of a sudden, Delia left the entryway and was marching over to the object.

"No, no, don't touch it!" Jay exclaimed.

Startled, Delia stopped in her tracks and threw him a baffled look. "What? Why not?"

"I—I dunno," her husband faltered, grimacing. "Just...I wouldn't touch it just yet."

"Why? Is it something dangerous?!"

"No. At least...I don't think so. Just..." Jay held out his hands and made a slight pushing gesture, as if to persuade Delia to back away. "...There could be something in it. I—I don't want you touching it."

"What's in it?!"

"I don't _want_ to know what's in it!" Misty vehemently declared, her palms still planted over her mouth.

Delia became more visibly anxious at Misty's fearful outburst. "What is this?!" she pressed, pointing at the object. "Jay, is this something from that stupid movie again?!"

"It's...well, yeah, it's supposed to be," he acknowledged. "I think. I mean...yeah..."

"And there's something inside of it? What?" Jay's discombobulated, tentative speech—as well as the children's caginess—was only serving to stir up Delia's panic-stricken demands.

Jay snapped out of his stupor, knowing he had to quickly quell his wife's mounting consternation. "Look, I'm sure there's _nothing_ inside of it. Okay? I mean..." He released a short, uneasy laugh. "I'm sure that what was inside of it in the movie is not inside of _that_."

"Oh, God!" Misty whimpered. At that, she took off for the house in long, anxious strides, whisking past Delia and disappearing through the door without another word.

That did it. Perturbed by the girl's overt terror, Delia spun to face her husband again.

"Jay, get rid of this thing," she ordered.

Still, Jay looked hesitant to comply. "Ah...okay, but...I don't know yet if we should..."

"_Why_?!"

"Well...what if we want someone to see this?" he shrugged.

Delia fixed him a look. "Who? What do you want to do, call the police? An investigator? This isn't a crime scene, Jay! It's just a pile of sticks—someone playing a prank on us!"

"I know, I know," Jay replied, though misgiving was still discernible in his tone.

"What would we even say? It's not like anyone damaged our property! You really can't report pranks to the police unless they're harming someone or something."

"Yeah...I know."

Picking up on his continued reluctance, Delia threw her hands up in the air. "Look, I don't care if you don't get rid of it, but it doesn't need to be on my front walk! Okay? So please move it!" she insisted.

"Okay, okay! I will, alright?!"

As his parents lobbied over the disturbing discovery, Ash's barely unblinking gaze never strayed from the twig bale. It looked so real, so authentic—like a prop straight out of the movie. It only made it that much easier for his imagination to thrive and his fear to soar. His father hadn't put out the rocks—none of them had. And none of them was responsible for this, either. It literally had come out of nowhere, just as strange and unsolicited as the supernatural package delivered in the woods of Burkitsville. And worse, no matter how hard he tried, he could not dispel the ghastly image of what was contained within that package. It was one of those scenes that had burned itself into his memory, long before any of these occurrences began happening, before any of it started becoming an actuality for them.

Was there something inside of _this_ bundle, something none of them could possibly comprehend, something he couldn't bear thinking about, much less behold?

Misty obviously thought so—her intolerance of even being in its presence had been uneasily felt. It had been hard to identify with her fright back when Ash had perceived all of this as fantasy, spooky fun...when it _was_ all just a joke. When living out the events of the movie was nothing more than play. When there were instant reveals, laughing _gotcha's_! When fear hadn't started surfacing in his _parents'_ voices. When he wasn't making unthinkable correlations between Pikachu's vanishing and these bizarre, chilling, and untimely incidents.

He was feeling that fright now—it had become his own, in ways his brain deemed implausible but his senses argued tangible.

He was beginning to wonder if none of this was a coincidence.

Pikachu was missing. The creepiest, most menacing components of the movie were materializing right under their noses. And everyone around him—those he was relying on to help and guide and support him through this traumatic ordeal—was unraveling before his very eyes.

This wasn't a movie—this was real life.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so well again.

As if reality hadn't posed enough of a betrayal, his stomach decided to join in the fray once again.

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to my lovely and wonderful and dedicated beta, Danielle! She just celebrated her birthday last week. If it wasn't for her, there would've been even _more _of a delay in getting this chapter out. She really pushes and encourages me, and I am so reliant and grateful for that. And she is always a dependable second pair of eyes. I owe her a venti pumpkin spice latte!

If you aren't familiar with what was in the bundle in _The Blair Witch Project_...well, you can look it up and find out. Suffice to say, it's not pleasant. :)

I hope you all enjoyed this installment! Thanks so much for reading! This chapter was quite a task, let me tell you. But I'm so happy and relieved I was able to get it out before Halloween. I have a lot happening in the upcoming weeks. In 38 days, I will be a married woman. :) It's hard to believe! I'm very excited, but it is the culmination to a very stressful time of preparation. Hopefully I will have a much clearer, calmer head in the near future so chapter 10 can arrive in a timelier manner. Poor Pikachu's been missing, for what, how long? Over a year? ;P

Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks again. Have a great Halloween!


	10. Falling Far Too Far Behind

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project_, and I certainly don't own a sense of regularity.

This chapter is dedicated to my father-in-law, who passed away in March. He never knew I wrote, but...well, perhaps he does now. Despite the drama and angst and ill-feelings within this installment, and him having been one of the most even-tempered, lighthearted men I ever had the privilege to know, I'm sure he would have loved it, and been proud of me for it.

* * *

**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 10

"Falling Far Too Far Behind"

Spending the rest of the precious daylight hours cooped up in the house fighting his deceptive body wasn't the worst thing Ash could have envisioned. Unbelievably, there was something far more upsetting and infuriating. It was having been forbade the choice to rebel against the former obstacle that was whittling away what little was left of his fractured disposition.

To him, the day couldn't have been more of a tragedy. Knowing he was partly to blame for it only fed his sullenness. Turns out it wouldn't have been any use begging Dad not to tell Mom about the tiny mishap he'd had on the lawn of the poor citizen who, Ash reflected, still might not have happened upon his unintended parting gift. The second bout of his system's collapse soon after they discovered the stick formation in the front yard, inconveniently in his mother's presence, was all that would have been needed to lead to his undue internment.

If only he _did_ feel better, he'd have fought his parents with much more vigor. Alas, it wasn't just them he was resisting. His stomach refused to ally with him, despite his resolve to will the nausea away. It just wasn't fair. He wasn't _sick_ sick—this wasn't a bug. A bug he would have been at the mercy of. Instead, this was his emotional vulnerability doing this to him; it was all in his mind, which meant he should have been able to overcome it with mulish endurance alone. But his body had made it implicitly clear it was in control, no matter what he told himself. What the hell had he done to deserve all of this?

Gnawing at his bottom lip to fight the tears that threatened his eyes to the point of a sharp ache, Ash seized a fistful of his hair and forced his attention on the television. His father had chosen a dreadfully uninteresting documentary on space exploration, and Ash tried to focus on the monotonous narration to distract himself. He wasn't all that successful; as cool as black holes and supernovas were, this program sure was doing a fine job of making it as boring as possible, and Pikachu did not drift long from his mind.

At least his dad had the sense not to tune into the National Ground-Battling Championship semifinals that, on any other day, Ash would have been scrambling to the nearest TV to catch. Right now, he most certainly did not have the heart (or the stomach) to watch any pokémon battles.

He couldn't believe he'd gotten sick. He just _couldn't believe it_. It made him angry more than anything else. His mother, trying to be sympathetic, said she felt terrible, but Ash didn't buy it. Not to say that she _wanted_ him sick, but Ash couldn't discount the nagging suspicion that Delia was relieved there was something wrong enough with him to keep him home. Of course she cared fiercely about him and was acting out of concern for his wellbeing, but it still didn't wash away the resentment building inside of him. How could she stop him from searching for his best friend and be as _okay_ with it as she was?

Sadly, it wasn't just that. Oh, no. Perhaps Ash might have been able to deal with it slightly better if so. No, it was her actions after telling him to stay home that troubled him most. If she really_ did _feel terrible, she would have done anything possible to make up for it, to show him she genuinely cared, to help him in the face of his restriction. Right?

Carving jack-o'-lanterns as if everything was right and well in the world was _not_ something he considered any of the above.

Ash tried to tune out the attempt at merriment happening behind him, but it was too difficult to swallow the extreme bitterness he felt from being aware of it to begin with. Though an obvious effort to lift the mood of the household, which was dismally akin to that of a funeral parlor, Ash couldn't believe the gumption his mother had. Was she really that insensitive to his pain, or was she just plain clueless?

To make matters worse, Misty and Brock were getting involved, as well. Brock had brought the pumpkins in from the front stoop while Misty had spread newspaper across the kitchen table, and Delia settled Riley in his highchair, giving him a prime view of the activities. They did it quietly, halfheartedly even, but did it nonetheless. No one had dared an attempt to include him, and Ash was grateful. At least they knew better than to expect _him_ to engage in such stupidity.

Still, while he couldn't bring himself to do anything enjoyable so unreservedly in light of the situation, his heart _did_ ache slightly at the thought of missing out on the tradition that always filled him with so much delight. He loved carving pumpkins, even if in years past he was no more than a spectator, keenly watching his mom or dad wield the knife as he dictated the type of look he wanted the pumpkins to take on. Deep down, there was a small but striking part of him that desired, _craved_ to join them, but of course he wasn't going to. His spirit was certainly unwilling, and it wouldn't be fair to Pikachu. It was inappropriate, plain and simple. If they chose to act that way, so be it; depression aside, he wouldn't—_couldn't_—reduce himself to such disrespect for his friend.

So instead he tried to watch TV with his dad, who had, except for refusing to keep secret his sickness, given him a tremendous amount of support. Jay wasn't talking much now, but he wasn't abandoning him to go have fun, either. He was sticking by him, just as he'd done all day, even after all the ugly moments. Ash still couldn't believe the roller coaster ride his relationship with Jay had taken the last couple of days. He held such appreciation for his father, and lamented the fact that he was going to lose that indispensable assistance the next day. Jay needed to go back to work, but Ash knew he felt guilty and torn. He'd offered to drive the kids to Viridian to search there, but as much as Ash valued this, he realized it would only serve to make him doubt the miles passed by in between. They needed to cover as much ground in the vicinity as exhaustively possible. Thus, he and Jay would part ways in the morning.

Dusk was creeping in, and dinnertime would soon follow. Ash contemplated bypassing the meal and going straight to bed instead. He didn't really want to bear sitting at the table and forcing conversation, and plus it would bring the morning faster—if he was able to sleep. With all hope, whoever had Pikachu would be slowed by the night just as he was. It was the theory Ash had to concentrate on if he had a shot of gaining any semblance of rest. But with his recent luck, he was convinced insomnia had a greater chance of inflicting its pitiless wrath.

Plagued with dread at the thought, his stomach responded, making an unwelcomed lurch. Ash squeezed at his temple, finding himself yet again dragged into a struggle against his body. Breathe, breathe. In, out, in, out. God, this _sucked_; he didn't have anything left to throw up, so why couldn't it just stop?! Why was he letting this happen to himself?! Wasn't he suffering enough?!

Occupied with his strive to maintain peace in his system, Ash didn't notice his mother's approach until he felt the couch dip gently but suddenly beside him. Funny enough, the queasiness seemed to be gone in an instant, swapped out with vexation.

_Oh, no. Here we go..._

So, that was her strategy? Wait until he was too sidetracked with keeping himself from vomiting to ambush him with her ridiculous request? Of course he knew that's what she was there for—it was silly to really think they were going to carve pumpkins without trying to draw him in. Well, they could try all they wanted; he wasn't budging from that couch—no way.

"Ash?" Delia ventured delicately. Ash had only conceded brief eye-contact with her, mostly out of surprise from her stealthy arrival, but now his attention was fixated back on the TV. "Honey? How would you like to help us carve the pumpkins?"

One more deep breath. "No, thank you," he replied listlessly. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to be accepted—not right away, anyhow. Sure enough:

"Why not?" she pressed, her tone as calm and affectionate as could be. "You love carving pumpkins. It'll be fun."

_Fun_. Ash blinked long and hard, incredulous of her nerve. _Calm down_, he bid himself, though, almost chidingly. _She's just trying to be nice. She's trying to help..._

"I don't want to," he answered evenly.

Delia sighed and edged in closer to him. Ash shied; he would have moved aside, but unfortunately he was already wedged as much as possible against the armrest. His mother reached over to caress his hair.

"I know you don't," she acknowledged. "But I think it would be good if you did something to make yourself feel better. Take your mind off what's going on."

Keeping his eyes glued to the program, Ash chose not to respond. There was nothing else he needed to say. He'd already declined; she'd just have to accept it.

"Misty and Brock are in there—they want to do it. Riley, too. This is his first time making jack-o'-lanterns." She smiled. "Wouldn't you like to show him how it's done? I'm sure he'd _love_ to watch you do it, Ash."

Great, now she was using the allure of getting his baby brother involved—or the guilt of disappointing him, whichever way one could look at it. His mother knew Riley would be a weakness for him, and it made tons of sense to exploit it—he had to give her that. It wasn't going to work, though. He was stronger than that.

"I said, I don't want to," he repeated.

Across the room, Jay snuck a glance at the exchange. As subtle as it was, Ash noticed and he tensed, wondering how his father was going to chime in, whose side he was going to take. His dad could certainly throw a curveball ever so often, and Ash hoped this wouldn't be one of those times. He needed his alliance.

The surprise, though, came in the form of silence. Jay went back to watching. So, his father wasn't going to speak for _or_ against him. He was going to leave the decision up to him. Ash was first inclined to feel a bit deserted, but then, he realized, maybe it was a blessing in disguise, given Jay's unreliable throws of support.

Delia must have picked up on the irritation in his tone, for she sighed. "Look. I know you're upset that you're not out looking for Pikachu," she said. "But you have to understand that you're not _well enough_ to do that right now."

Ash inhaled loudly through his nose. "Yes, I am," he grated, praying that she wouldn't associate the resentfulness in his tone with the truth of her judgment.

"No, you're not," Delia disagreed carefully. "You threw up twice. There's something going on, no matter how much you deny it.

"Besides," she added, "it's late; it's getting dark. You wouldn't have been able to keep looking, anyway."

_Says you._

"I know the last thing you want to do is carve pumpkins, but sweetheart, all I'm trying to do is find something for us to pass the time a little easier. Wouldn't that be better than sitting around all night being sad?"

"I'm not the one making that decision."

Delia dipped her head. The exhale she made this time sounded a bit more frustrated, and it granted Ash a slight victorious feeling. She wasn't making this easy for him, so he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"Ash, I don't _want_ you to be sad," she made clear.

"Whatever," he sneered, surprising himself at his spite when, seconds earlier, he had been trying so hard to be standoffish.

"Stop that," Delia admonished lightly, sounding hurt. Still, her voice never strayed from the soft, fragile tone she'd begun the approach with. Ash marveled at her patience. He certainly didn't feel any at the moment. "Why are you being that way? I'm not asking you to stay home because I don't want you to find Pikachu—it's because you're sick. And it's late. It's been a long day—you need to rest, Ash."

Maintaining his attention obstinately on the TV was getting more and more difficult. "You never _asked_ me to stay home. You _told_ me to stay home."

"...Fine, I told you to stay home," Delia corrected, somewhat dismissively. "If you want to be so specific about it."

It was that remark that promptly liquefied his cold shoulder. "I do, because _you_ are what's keeping me from finding Pikachu!" His mother's head jerked back as his vitriolic, steely eyes penetrated hers.

"Ash," Jay spoke at last, his attention flicking from the TV momentarily, "chill out."

Aided by her husband's interjection, Delia quickly found her voice in the intensifying dissension. "Ash, if you want to be angry with me over this, go ahead. It's not going to make me change my mind. I'm concerned about you, and I know what's best for you..." She frowned. "But I think you do, too. You can't look for Pikachu twenty-four hours a day. Whether you're healthy or not. You need _rest_. It's _okay_ for you to rest, and be home."

"I'm not gonna be home for long!" Ash declared.

"...Yes, I know," she acquiesced. Ash had made it quite clear to her that he (presumably with Misty and Brock, though he hadn't solicited them for any semblance of _agreement_) was going to head out the next morning—the possibility of not returning all but definite. Destination was largely unknown, but there was no doubt the Johto League was nothing more than a forgone dream for the moment.

"I just hope you're better by then," she affixed.

"Or what?!" Ash exclaimed, slapping the armrest of the couch. "You won't let me go?!"

"I didn't say that." Delia tried to remain as stoic as possible in the face of her son's mounting rage.

"Yeah, but you're probably thinking it!"

"Of course I'm thinking it," she conceded. "If you're still sick, I don't know if I'm really going to be up to letting you go wandering off to wherever it is you're going."

Ash's heart pounded in his chest. If his mother dared to tell him he couldn't leave to look for Pikachu the following morning, he didn't know what he'd do.

Actually—scratch that: yes, he did know.

"I'm leaving no matter _what_," he ground out, leaning in to her space to buttress his avowal.

He could tell from his mother's hardening expression that he was striking a nerve in her. But instead of being deterred, it fueled him. She believed she'd have the final say in the matter, no doubt there, but she was going to be sorely disappointed to find that wasn't to be. Not only was he not going to go down without a fight, he wasn't going to go down _at all_.

"We'll see how you are," she concluded squarely.

Ash bristled at her complete disregard of his resolution. "No, we _won't_."

"Ash! Do you honestly think I'm going to let you leave this house if you're still _throwing up_?"

"It doesn't matter whether you _let_ me or not!"

Delia's eyes narrowed. "It certainly does! I'm your mother."

"I don't _care_!"

"Well, tough," she retorted sternly. "Whether you like it or not, if you're not well enough in the morning, you will _not_ be leaving."

Ash's assertion was hardly shaken, but his mother's audacious try at exerting authority still managed to rattle his cage. "Well, if that's the case, I'll just leave in the middle of the night!" he countered. "You can't stop me then!" At first he thought the threat sounded impetuously juvenile, but then in a rush it felt real, inspiring. His nerves buzzed with sudden motivation.

For a charged moment, Delia eyed him. "Don't you dare do that." Although meant to be a word of warning, Ash could hear a tremor of fear in her voice at the notion.

"Then don't you dare tell me I'm not leaving tomorrow to look for Pikachu!" he returned unflinchingly.

"Ash!" Jay cut in again, fixed his son a displeased look that alerted Ash he wasn't satisfactorily "chilling out" as his father had requested. Ash prepared for the rest of the reproach, but Jay left it at just a lingering glare. And again, it presented Delia that much needed second to grasp her bearings and lay into Ash another dose of reasoning.

"Ash, you _have_ to stop with this nonsense that you are the only person who can find Pikachu," she insisted. "Just because you aren't out there doesn't mean the search is off. You know there are other people looking for him—as we speak. We filed a report—the police know. And Professor Oak told all his colleagues—"

"None of that's gonna make a difference, Mom! They're not going to find him!" Ash cried, taking his wrath out on the armrest again. "_I'm_ the only one who'll be able to find him! I'm the only one who knows where to look! _Especially_ if it's Team Rocket!"

"Would you settle down, _please_?" she appealed as his voice grew more hysterical. "You're going to make yourself sick again!"

"Why? That's what you want—isn't it?"

Exasperated, Delia's head plunged into her palm. "Ash," she moaned, "saying such ridiculous things is not helping the matter."

"No! You know what's not helping the matter, Mom? You are!" Ash was on his feet so fast he slammed into the coffee table and nearly fell. The brusque move certainly got his parents on edge. Delia leapt up on impulse while Jay was finally seized entirely from the TV.

"ASH!" he barked, but he may as well have not been in the room, as Ash didn't grant him even half a second of attention.

"You're the one who's being ridiculous!" he jabbed a livid finger in Delia's direction as his tirade continued. After minutes—no, not minutes, _days_—of barely tolerating her efforts to suppress his actions, he'd finally had it. "You're the one who wants me to carve stupid jack-o'-lanterns when my pokémon is missing! You're the one who keeps trying to stop me from going out to find Pikachu! All you want me to do is wait, wait, wait! All you want to do is keep me home! You don't _want_ me to find Pikachu!"

"Ash, that's not true—stop it," Delia disputed.

"Yes, it is! Any time I've tried to leave this house you've given me a problem!" he ranted.

"That's because you keep trying to go when you're sick or tired or when it's not safe!"

Her son shook his head heatedly. "No, no! This was before Pikachu went missing, too! When I wanted to leave _days ago_ for my journey, and you stopped me! I wanted to go but I let you convince me to stay! I knew I shouldn't have! And now look what it's gotten me!"

"Quiet! That's enough!" Jay yelled.

But Ash was far from done. He could see his mother's face sagging more and more with grief as all of his feelings, some pent up for what seemed like forever, expelled savagely and bitterly from his mouth.

"If I'd just left days ago when I wanted to none of this would've happened! But no, I stayed and what do you do?! You let Pikachu out and then forget about him! You let him out and went back to bed and he got stolen! All of this is happening because of _you_! All of this is your fault! IT'S ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!"

"All right, that's it!" Jay jumped from his seat, gesturing furiously at the stairs. "Enough! Either shut your mouth or get upstairs! You're done here!"

Ash's glare, distorted by looming tears, daggered into his father's. "Fine! I'm going to bed, anyway!" he spat.

"You do that!" snarled Jay.

Ash managed one more intense look at his mother, who was stock-still, rendered speechless by his ruthless condemnation, before stamping with purposeful closure toward the stairs. His heart was racing and his temple throbbed from anger, but his chest and mind at last felt clear. Sure, just like that the honeymoon with his dad was unequivocally over, but it was a necessary casualty if it meant getting his mother to understand how he felt. Which, if her stunned gawk was any indication, he was pretty sure he had.

No sooner did he get to his room did he begin to assemble his things, cramming clothes into his bag with furious vigor whilst desperately fighting back a burning urge to sob his eyes out. He knew if he cried as his broken heart desired, he'd throw up again. In spite of his stubbornness, it was the last thing he wanted repeated—the previous two times had been awful enough. He forced himself to slow down, took a deep, unsteady breath, and continued on with his packing.

Retrieving his Pokédex under a mess of magazines and papers on his desk, he froze as he suddenly spied his badge case beside it. His hand hovered over it momentarily before he picked it up and opened it, revealing the five glistening, colorful badges he'd acquired thus far.

The sight was enough to tempt his stomach back to illness. Memories and sorrow flooded his head, and with a sharp crack the case was shut again. For a minute, Ash contemplated tossing it back on his desk, compelled to never want to see it again. But all that did was suggest giving up, and no way was Ash going to surrender to the possibility of Pikachu never helping him earn another badge. Thus, he shoved the case into the front pocket of his bag and zipped it up decisively.

"Ash?"

It wasn't as if he hadn't anticipated company following his pretentious exit, but Misty still succeeded in taking him by surprise, quiet and heedful though her voice was. Indignation refortified, he spun to face his girlfriend, a deep scowl gorging his brow.

"Don't you have pumpkins to carve?" he asked scathingly.

She looked taken aback for a second before her face fell, wounded. "Come on, Ash. What else was I to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe help me out a little down there?"

"Ash, I wasn't going to get in the middle of you and your mom's argument," she reasoned, her shoulders dipping.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter," he shrugged sourly, turning his back on her to continue packing. "I handled it fine by myself, anyway."

"You're...you're not _really_ going to leave tonight, are you?" she asked worriedly.

Ash closed the rest of his bulging backpack and flung it carelessly to the floor. "I don't know—maybe! Still thinking about it." The strategy honestly remained enticing, no matter how convincingly he'd put his mother in her place.

"But that's crazy!" Misty exclaimed. "Please don't think about doing that!"

"Why?" he challenged. "So I can stick around tomorrow morning for my mom's _inspection_? So I can have her tell me whether or not I'm _allowed_ to go and find Pikachu? No thanks!"

"But Ash," Misty persisted, entering the room, "it's just that—"

"Misty, _stop_," Ash cut her off with a hand in her face, clenching his teeth to try to curb his rekindling infuriation. "I'm done hearing I can't go because I'm sick! I told you, I told _everybody, _for the last time: I'm _fine_! I'm leaving! And if that means tonight, then so be it!"

"Please," she beseeched, "it's not that!"

"Then what is it?!" he demanded, his patience wearing implausibly thin.

"Because we don't know what's going on out there, that's why!"

Ash gaped at her desperate face, baffled, before it hit him what she was referring to. Immediately, his eyes narrowed. "Wait...you mean the Blair Witch things?"

Folding her arms around herself, she nodded faintly, obviously feeling anxious to disclose it as much as it was presumably troubling her.

Ash was ready to shoot her down soundly, criticize the inanity of her basis, but something checked his tongue. The peculiar occurrences did still weigh on his mind, but getting past his parents and overcoming his condition had become a much more pressing matter. Had he not been dealing with the crisis, he too would have been consumed with the mystery, finding out who was behind the unamusing practical jokes.

But it wasn't the curiosity of the who-done-it that preyed on Misty—it was fear. She was just as frightened of the movie as she had been from the very start. And while he had to admit the incidents did unsettle him, were far too eerie to be ignored, Ash wasn't prepared for them to be grounds for abandoning his search.

"_That's_ why you don't want me to leave?"

Misty frowned, evidently not finding it as absurd. "That's why I don't want you to leave _at night_," she clarified adamantly. "I'm afraid of you leaving with...with all this stuff going on!"

Ash was afraid, too...but of something much scarier: not locating Pikachu. In comparison, the rocks and stick-pile were merely additional disturbances.

That wasn't the case with Misty. She was outright terrified, and concerned enough was she with him leaving that she braved confronting him about it in his explosive state. Any other time, Ash would have found it endearing, made his heart swell with affection. Tonight, however, it just served to heighten his intolerance.

"Well, I'm not afraid!" he seethed. "Not enough to keep me home!"

"But we don't know anything about where it's coming from! Doesn't it make you nervous, at all?!"

"Doesn't Pikachu missing make _you_ nervous?" he retaliated incredulously. "Do you even _care_ that he's still gone?!"

"Of course I care!" swore Misty resentfully.

"Then why aren't you packing?" Ash retorted, practically screaming. "Why are you in here begging me not to leave instead of getting your stuff together and _HELPING ME_?!"

"I _will_!" she replied, shouting to keep stride. "But I'm not leaving here tonight!"

"Why not? Because you're scared?"

Her break following his allegation was enough of an answer for Ash.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed, appalled. "I can't believe you're so scared of something _fake_ that you won't come with me to find Pikachu!"

That had Misty's face turning red quite rapidly. "First of all, it's not fake! You call those things that showed up on the lawn _fake_? They're real! And second, I told you, I _am_ coming with you! Although right now I'm actually wondering why!"

Ash grunted at that comment. "Then do me a favor and _don't_."

The look Misty gave him overtly bared her shock and hurt from what he'd replied so offhandedly. Truth be told, he was sort of astonished with it himself. Perhaps he hadn't intended it to come out so coarsely, but that's what she got for inciting him, for trying to impede him with such stupid rationale. He had respected her phobia long enough, but now she was trying to use it as a means to keep him from finding his friend. And that was when she promptly lost his support.

Then again, he couldn't help but feel it was _her_ support that was truly lost.

A heavy silence fell between them, the air dense with friction and discord. Misty continued to stare at him, as if waiting for a retraction of his statement...or merely trying to make sense of him. Either way, she was doing her best to pierce his conscience with her leaden blue eyes. And though Ash did feel an effect, all it was managing to do was uphold his tenacity. He wasn't about to grovel for her pardon or approval...that would come in due time, _after_ Pikachu was found.

He was maintaining his stand, but apparently, she wasn't about to go without one herself. Suddenly, she straightened, arching her shoulders with salvaged poise, and regarded him rigidly.

"I'm going to go and pack now," she said, softly but thickly. He felt his eyes widen in surprise; that wasn't what he expected. Was she actually...changing her tune?

"If you leave tomorrow morning, I'll be up and ready to come with you and help you. If you leave tonight..." She began her way out of the room, but suspended in the doorway to cast him one last solemn glance. "...then good luck, Ash."

Ash didn't know how long he stood there gazing at the empty threshold, or why there was such an interval for him following her exit. Her position had been made crystal clear from the start, and if anyone had a history of sticking by one's guns more than he did, it was her. Only...she had become quite more open and persuadable since they began dating, or at least he'd _sworn_. They were both passionate about their respective aspirations, but it was she who worked her interests around his desires, from following him on his journey all the way down to what TV channel they tuned to in the evening. She'd always supported him as a best friend should, but in recent months, she'd been increasingly catering, easily swayed...devoted.

So never in a million years would he expect Misty to ditch him when he needed her most, all for something so..._delusional_.

It was that comprehension that forced him to consider the incidents in a different light for a minute. Because when it came down to it, Misty never _was_ delusional. Maybe Brock was, when he tried to attract women ten years older than him. Maybe Gary was, when he'd aimed to convince Ash all his wins were because of "luck." Misty had her moments, but she was about as pragmatic as they came. Was this just one of those moments, albeit a major one? Orshould he be more alarmed with the goings-on than he was? Misty was scared for Ash's _safety_. Did that mean Pikachu was in _more_ danger than any of them thought...?

_No_! he thought emphatically, snapping out of it. Pikachu was in trouble, no doubt, but not with a _witch_, not with some paranormal-wannabe!

Having his girlfriend's assistance would be nice, sure. But in the end, he didn't need to fight through all the misgivings she was planting in his head just to gain a coalition that was perfunctory at best.

He then reminded himself how he _had_, if only fleetingly, considered a connection between the incidents and Pikachu's absence right after they'd found the stick bundle.

But Ash shook his head violently. "_Stupid_!" he mumbled in disgust to himself. It was all coincidence. It had just been a dumb, impulsive thought, nothing more.

He threw a glimpse at his clock. Though dark out, it was barely six o'clock. Maybe going to bed was a _bit_ premature. But like hell if he was going to go downstairs and stupidly toss himself back into that turbulent arena of conflict.

So his decision was more or less made. He'd shower and go to bed and sleep as much as his body allowed. His family wanted him to leave in the morning? All right. Morning began at midnight, did it not? Ash smirked cynically. Being literal could certainly work to his advantage.

Nonetheless, there was one tiny thing he conceded was still an issue: _light_. Taking a peek out the window had Ash facing an unrelenting reality. The area was too rural to warrant widespread streetlamps, and it so happened to be a developing overcast evening, obscuring the rising moon just enough to be useless. Was he really that prepared to expend all his energy trying to trace Pikachu in this abyss, when it was the daylight hours that would command his utmost focus?

His midnight excursion probably _wasn't_ going to come to pass, he realized lamentably. But they didn't need to know that. Let them stew, he decided. It was only fair; after the torment they had no problem dishing out to him, he should have no reservations giving it back.

His head panged again, and Ash pressed a hand against his brow in a vain effort to alleviate it. It was bothersome, but at least his nausea was apparently gone.

Rest, light...and faith. Those were what he ultimately required. After that, everything else was a mere roadblock, nothing he couldn't and wouldn't power through.

And that included his fair-weather family.

* * *

"_Sooooooo_..." Her hungry grin preyed on him the second he got back to the house. "What happened?"

Well, _thank goodness_ Meowth had made the smart decision to stick around and find out. In retrospect, of course Jessie was going to want to know the outcome of her latest hoax. He didn't want to imagine how she'd react if he _hadn't_ had a report to present.

"He trew up," the cat answered flatly, then braced himself for her inevitable reaction.

Sure enough, Jessie's face illuminated, and the jubilant squeal she unleashed punctured his sensitive ears. "Are you serious?" she clamored. "What else?"

He arched an incredulous brow. "Dat ain't enough for ya?!"

"Come on, Meowth!"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Meowth waltzed over to the blanket he'd been using as a bed and plopped down. He exchanged a quick, mutually-weary look with James, who was in the process of putting their supplies together, and sighed.

"Da goil ran in da house screamin', the muddah and faddah started yammerin' and hollerin' at each other about what t'do wit da ting..." His recap was nothing more than a haggard drawl, because that's genuinely how he felt about it. The twerp vomiting was an eye-widening surprise, Meowth had to admit that, but everything else was predictable and, quite frankly, it was old.

His partner didn't exactly share his opinion, though. "Ahahaha, yes!" she exalted and clapped triumphantly. "Oh, if only I'd been there to see it myself! Well done, Meowth!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he dismissed the accolade. He was just glad it was over and done with and they could now focus on the imperative. "So, _when_ are we leavin'?"

"Keep your fur on, we'll be out of here soon. Tell me what else happened." Still beaming, high on victory, she sure was hankering for the unabridged version.

"Whaddah ya mean?" Meowth shrugged. "Dat's it!"

Her radiant expression dimmed slightly, but she accepted it. "Oh. Well, I guess that is enough. I can't complain, can I? They're all still falling for it! And the brat _threw up_?! I can't believe it! Doesn't get better than that!"

Meowth diverted his gaze away, hoping to shield from her the fact that he didn't quite concur. Truthfully, seeing the boy upchuck after discovering Jessie's craft didn't exactly amuse him—it..._distressed_ him. Much the same way Pikachu's appearance was swiftly grasping at his empathy, clashing with the integrity that still lingered deep within his corrupted heart. Even in separation, the pair maintained an incredibly stanch connection: they were two indisposed spectacles, two afflicted souls made miserable by the same source. A source Meowth was starting to find himself, scandalously so, uncomfortable with.

It didn't mean he was leaning towards returning Pikachu to Ash—no, it would take nothing short of _lunacy_ to result in that. But getting ailing Pikachu to the boss and Meowth away from the awkward torment the twerps were experiencing? That couldn't come fast enough. Out of sight, out of mind.

"All right, Jessie, Meowth's back," James said, the edginess in his tone not exactly subtle. "We have to start thinking about leaving—_now_."

Jessie nodded. "Right, right, I know," she replied breezily. Still: "Can't a girl have a few moments to bask in her accomplishment?"

"Bask in it on da way t'headquarters," Meowth growled.

He received a look for that, but it seemed like no sour attitude was going to tamper Jessie's mood—her smile stubbornly coexisted with her stink-eye.

"I plan on it."

"We still haven't figured out how we're transporting Pikachu," James reminded.

Jessie's lips pursed, finally containing her gleeful expression. While she didn't view her ongoing recreation a setback like her partners did, the thorny situation of physically getting Pikachu to headquarters was. It wouldn't have posed as much of an issue if Pikachu hadn't gone and gotten pathetically sick, curse the stupid rat. Jessie still couldn't figure out what the reason was for his illness, but that was hardly her concern now. Getting Pikachu to the boss in the most concealed and effortless way, while ensuring he didn't get _sicker_, was her current dilemma.

"We can't cart that crate around," continued James, gesturing to it. Otherwise motionless, Pikachu's ears pricked weakly at the attention. "It's far too heavy."

"I know it is," agreed Jessie testily. It was a shame they couldn't just chuck the thing into their balloon and take off. There was too much risk of the authorities monitoring anything suspicious in the area to go that route.

Traveling by foot had become their only option. When it came down to it, Jessie felt compelled to simply stuff Pikachu back into the black, electric-proof sack they'd brought him to the house in. But the mouse was much too frail to endure such a rough ride; besides, the sack was never intended to be a long-term vessel. And while Pikachu didn't _appear_ able-bodied enough to escape when they would unavoidably have to break to give him fresh air and water, who knew what would come over the pokémon if given the slimmest opportunity?

Pondering all of this made Jessie agitated. Thinking up elements from the horror movie to harass the twerps with had been so much easier! If only that was her solitary task at the moment. Pikachu was almost starting to feel like a burden, as opposed to their ticket to finally achieving noteworthy status in the organization.

As such, her mind threatened to drift, but she tried her best to pay attention to the far more vital discussion carrying on between Meowth and James.

"You sure we don't have any smaller cages?"

James shook his head forlornly. "We do, but none electric-proof."

"Ya tink he still has da energy t'shock, dough?"

"Would _you_ like to find out?" James challenged.

Damn the twerps for destroying all the shock-retardant smaller cages they _used_ to have. Even when they weren't directly retaliating, the kids _still_ managed to hamper their heists. Jessie suddenly felt extra delighted over the effect her latest scheme had on Ash. Was anything ever more fantastically justified? Her stomach fluttered with residual jollity and eagerness. Oh, did she ever yearn to get in _one last prank_...

"Ya know what would be nice?" Meowth said longingly after a period of pensive silence. "A _car_."

The idea was so intoxicating that a lopsided grin broke through James' chafed facade. "A car would be _wonderful_."

"We'd be ta headquarters in no time!"

"We'd fly right under the radar!"

"No kiddin'! You tink we could swipe one somewhere?"

Jessie perked. She felt keen to do just that. _And_ swing by the twerps' residence to plant a new prop along the way...

James' excitement quickly deflated. "All the cars have those blasted alarms now," he pointed out. "The last thing we should do is draw any attention to ourselves."

Meowth scowled intensely at yet another proposal quashed. "Well, den, whaddah ya suggest we do?!" he demanded impatiently. "Huh? We gotta tink of _somethin'_! It ain't like dere's some special Pokéball to trap Pikachu in that's gonna magically solve all our problems!"

Impassive to his ire, James sighed. "Even if there was a special Pokéball, I doubt we'd be entrusted with it."

Jessie huffed under her breath. James was probably right. While the materials division had certainly equipped them throughout the years with helpful tools and provisions, their consistent failure to use these productively (in addition to their success in, well, ruining them) resulted in fewer allowances of exclusive gadgets. Yet their expectations remained the same. It was enough to send a hasty bitter chill through Jessie. They were supposed to deliver Pikachu, but with lesser accommodating devices? It just wasn't right. It was downright unfair. Sometimes she really felt upper management _owed_ them.

That was when it hit her. _Overtook_ her, more like it. So bowled over was she with this precipitous idea that her head practically spun. What the heck were they doing?

"Oh, for goodness sakes, listen to you two!" Jessie exclaimed. "You're coming up with these ridiculous, imaginary methods to get Pikachu out of here! Obviously you aren't considering the one painfully straightforward solution to all this!"

James and Meowth, startled by her interruption, gaped at her expectantly.

"Why are we driving ourselves crazy wondering how to get Pikachu to headquarters," she presented, "when it would be so much more sensible to have headquarters come to _us_?"

"...What do you mean?" James blinked, his tone elevating with prospect.

"It's simple. We contact headquarters. Tell them our situation, our predicament. Request backup. Once they hear we have Pikachu in our custody, and that it's in dire need of medical assistance, they're bound to come and retrieve it right away!"

For a beat, her two partners just stared, processing her out-of-the-blue pitch. Jessie felt her chest puff up proudly, the brilliance of her plan taking hold of her more powerfully by the second. Although, she wondered what it was that was actually stirring her more: the fact that she had just come up with a perfectly workable, expedient way to get Pikachu to the boss...or that she had just bought herself more time to prolong her fun—_reasonably_.

Instead of mutual enthusiasm or kudos for her aptitude, however, she was suddenly met with a furious pair of feline eyes. "Are you kiddin' me?!" Meowth exploded. "You come up with that _now_? Just like dat? Where was dis idea two days ago?"

Jessie glared back. "Where was it from _you_ two days ago?" she retorted defensively. "How about giving me some credit here for finally figured out what the hell we should do?!"

"How _is_ that going to work, though, Jessie?" James was much more unruffled than Meowth, most likely due to the fact that he accepted a solution was a solution, but there was still doubt clouding his eyes. "How are we going to contact headquarters? We have no phone!"

"We're going to find a payphone, that's all."

"_Dat's all_!" echoed Meowth outrageously. "You act like dey're all ovah da place! In case ya didn't notice, we're in da middle of the country! Dere are no payphones!"

"There are near town," Jessie assessed.

James frowned. "But Jessie—you're saying we're going to sneak all the way into town to make a phone call?"

"Not we—_me_," she corrected. Without another word, she skipped eagerly to her belongings and began to sift through her bag, much to the sustained dazedness of her cohorts.

"B-but..." James stammered, virtually in dread, "what are _we_ going to do?"

"Watch Pikachu, of course." Jessie clumsily extracted some street-clothes from the bag, shaking them vigorously to ease out the severe folds and wrinkles that distorted them from being stuffed away for such an extended time. "I won't be long."

"Are you sure dis is even gonna _woik_?" Meowth cried distrustfully. "How do you know dey're just gonna send us help? We ain't exactly dere favorite agents, ya know!"

"Yes, but we have in our possession one of their most sought-after subjects," she reasoned, eying him firmly. "And we need assistance. They don't need to know how long we've had Pikachu. We could say the damn thing got sick overnight and we weren't able to travel with it. I'm sure they'll be more than willing to send backup."

She wasn't exactly pulling this theory from nowhere. In fact, Jessie was pretty certain what she spoke was nothing short of the truth. After years of financing their mission to capture the blasted mouse, Jessie was fairly confident the boss would want to bring this period to a close as swiftly as possible.

"No one will notice me, I promise," she assured as she changed into her one pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. So infrequently did she wear them, the clothes felt alien to her —not to mention loose. She'd clearly lost weight since the last time she'd donned them, which wasn't exactly a good thing. "I'll probably be gone no more than two hours. I'll take the back roads and use the first phone I see.

"Trust me on this one," Jessie concluded softly and with aplomb as she took in James and Meowth's still tentative faces. They were tired and despondent—she got that. But the truth of the matter was that she had a viable plan; they did not. They had no choice but to go along with her...and was she ever going to take full advantage of that.

"This is our last resort, and it'll work out. It'll all be over tonight. Or tomorrow morning, at least." She cringed good-naturedly.

"But we won't have to worry about transporting Pikachu, and we don't have to worry about being spotted!" she added positively, wedging her long, bounteous hair beneath a grungy baseball cap.

James and Meowth still had nothing to offer as she gathered a backpack to swing around her shoulders, completing the look she desired of a traveling trainer. She reached over to the breakfront in the corner and grabbed one of their walkie-talkies, then held it up to show them with a reassuring smile.

"I'll be in touch, okay?"

_For a while_, she added to herself mischievously, biting her tongue harshly to contain the smirk that would be sure to give her side mission away. Her hold tightened on the device, energy crackling in her nerves at the thought of how handy it was about to become. For a short time there, it seemed as though no break was going to present itself for her to execute her final endeavor. How fortunate was she that she was actually going to get the chance, and how tremendous was it that it was all due to her flawless, if fortuitous, arrangement?

They must have at last resigned themselves to her proposition, because Meowth ambled forward, all traces of annoyance seemingly replaced with depleted capitulation.

"You want me to come witcha?"

She shook her head. _Ohhhh, no, I don't_, she laughed internally. "No, I'll be fine. I have my pokémon. Not to mention an uncanny flair for going incognito, despite my irresistible beauty." She winked impishly but assertively, tipping her hat.

James made an effort to match her cheerfulness, but his features remained too burdened with anxiousness. "Please...just be careful," he beseeched her inaudibly.

His plainspoken concern briefly clutched at her gut, made her feel guilty for hiding a second agenda within her masterful plan. But she quickly reminded herself how logical her approach _was_, how it was ultimately going to allow everything to work out beautifully, how it was going to make everyone satisfied...how _superlative_ it truly was. And just like that, her strong-mindedness was wholly restored.

"I will," she pledged.

As Jessie made her way out of the room, the worn, aged floorboards creaking under her animated stride, she cast one more glance at the enfeebled electric mouse. Despite his appearance, she couldn't help feel especially uplifted. Plaguing the twerps to the point of sheer terror was a victory in and of itself, but to have Pikachu on top of it? Three long years of this crusade might have posed its munificent share of anguish, but it sure was going to end on the highest and sweetest of notes.

If this affair proved nothing else, it was that nice guys indeed finished last. Jessie grinned wickedly, wondered why anyone would ever want to be one to begin with.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Thank you for reading! Comments and/or constructive criticism are deeply appreciated. :)


	11. Wanna Cry, Wanna Croon

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Pokémon_ or _The Blair Witch Project_. And I won't waste your time any longer here; after four months, you probably just want to get to reading. (Also, I can't think of any other clever witticism to add, as my brain is good and fried from writing this emotional installment.) Enjoy!

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**SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING**

_by Spruceton Spook_

Chapter 11

"Wanna Cry, Wanna Croon"

The household had come to a stand-still much earlier than usual. With everyone so utterly depleted both physically and emotionally, and a pending early-morning departure haunting the near future, no one fought to stay up any longer than necessary. Even Riley, notorious for nightly theatrics, hadn't fussed when his mother made the ad hoc move to put him to bed at an uncommon time. He must have soaked up the grief and strain permeating from the family in his own unique way, and though Delia hated that even her baby's innocence was not spared by this nightmare, she rejoiced in his cooperation.

With the four kids tucked away and her head ponderous with fatigue, Delia pined urgently for her bed. The last couple of days had been trying, but this day in particular had been the absolute worst. She wasn't looking forward to the morning and all the heartache it would undoubtedly bring, but she wasn't reluctant to call to an end the present day, either. All she needed to do now was touch base with her husband, who was still tarrying downstairs, and she could get the rest she critically needed to take on the new set of hardships soon to come.

Though she hadn't heard a sound from below for some time, she was still astonished to find Jay in the nearly pitch-black living room, perched on the ottoman in front of the patio door. His profile was faintly outlined by the muted glow of streetlight in front of their home, reflecting in eyes keenly focused out a narrow slit in the drawn curtains and into the shadowy world beyond. He held the vigilant gaze of a sniper, or, in a less grave way, a dedicated peeping Tom. A bottle of beer dangled loosely from his hand. Immediately aware of what he was up to, Delia wrapped her robe tightly across her chest and ghosted over.

Jay was engrossed, but not enough to not sense her presence. Still, he awarded her no acknowledgment as she hovered behind him, dipping her head over his shoulder to briefly check out his vantage point.

"You thinking of coming to bed soon?" she asked as she righted herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe," he replied, taking a slug of his beer. His concentration never drifted.

"Well, how long do you plan on sitting here in the dark?" she followed. It wasn't late, but she couldn't help feeling as though the day could not be properly closed until he came to bed with her. She desired his company, aside from the fact that her time awake was very limited at best.

Jay shrugged. "Dunno. I wish I could stay up all night, but I know that ain't happening."

"You really think they're going to come back?"

"Why wouldn't they? They're on a roll," he pointed out bitterly, taking another quick swig.

"And what, exactly, do you plan on doing if they do?" Her voice dragged warily, challengingly. Delia knew he was annoyed and angry, and when Jay got that way, shortsightedness too often and too easily resulted. The risk of that was especially high now, considering the unpleasant mood he'd exuded all evening and how helplessly beset they all were from the ongoing events.

"End it," he answered.

"How?"

"Give them a piece of my mind."

That was far too vague in Jay's vernacular, and a surge of anxiety gripped Delia's stomach. The last thing she needed was for her acutely aroused husband to catch their perpetrators red-handed and react unwisely. She hated how clearly that played out in her head.

"Jay..." she began with a heavy exhale, "...can you just…please promise me you'll control yourself if that happens?"

"I will."

"I don't want the cops here tonight."

"Don't worry."

"I don't need you getting arrested."

Jay huffed, flashing her an amused look. Delia didn't find her concern at all comical. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know, I just don't want you doing something stupid!" she fretted outright.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Jay assured evenly. When she didn't look convinced, he turned to her and sighed. "Listen. I can tell you right now that what we're probably dealing with is some punk little kid and his pals who think they're so damn smart and hilarious and're getting a great, big thrill out of all of this, and as much as I would love to string them up by their underwear from the tree, I won't do anything to harm them." He smirked, considering that. "Physically, that is."

While Delia was sure his brain hadn't stopped there at conceiving devilish, imaginative ways to teach the miscreant or miscreants a lesson, she believed him. Jay's bark was far more vicious than his bite, and he knew how to apply that capacity quite effectively. Still, a plausible worry remained: "Yeah, and what if it isn't some kid?"

Jay's face grew dark. "It doesn't matter. Whoever it is, if I catch them in the act, they're gonna meet me. And they'll regret that they did."

Delia's heart danced uncomfortably, and she leveled him a condemning look. "See,_ that's _what I don't like, Jay. You scare me when you say things like that. I know how you get! I don't want you handling something that—that maybe you shouldn't be! It's not worth it!"

Jay balked visibly at that. "Not _worth it_?" he echoed thickly. "It certainly _is_ worth it. I don't care _who_ it is; I am not about to sit back and let some asshole screw around with us anymore—with my _son_. They're trespassing on _my_ property and harassing _my_ family, and I'm sorry if I refuse to just let that happen under my watch without me doing something about it."

Her breath caught in her lungs. Delia didn't know what to say or even how to cope with all the conflicting emotions overwhelming her from his fierce avowal. While part of her still wanted to plead for his vow to conduct himself in a sensible and reserved manner if the need arose, another part of her wanted to fling her arms around his neck and celebrate the man she married who so boldly and unapologetically aimed to defend his loved ones.

So she held her tongue, and Jay returned to his post, satisfied he made his point clear. After that speech, no way was he going to retire to bed anytime soon. Resigning to it, Delia settled gently on the ottoman behind him, then reached over to claim his bottle of beer. When he didn't put up resistance, she helped herself to a long sip.

"Mmm," she moaned indulgently as the ale hit the back of her throat. She handed the bottle back to Jay. "I've missed that."

"Yeah, I know. For a long time, I did, too." He gave the bottle a shake to ascertain how much remained. "There's more in the fridge, you know, if you want one."

Delia gasped in facetious shock. "You mean I'm worthy enough to have something from your prized stash?" she teased.

"Take advantage of my rare generosity while you can," Jay quipped.

Smiling, Delia was relieved that the tone had already lifted slightly between them. His proneness to letting his irritation get the better of him still troubled her, but she hadn't meant to upset him or diminish his pride in her attempt to express that.

"I'd love to, but don't feel good about drinking while I'm still breastfeeding."

"Ah, come on," egged Jay. "What's the harm? It can only make it better. Maybe the squeak would enjoy a little cocktail. Nice White Russian."

"_Jay_," Delia scolded playfully, giving her chuckling husband's shoulder a shove. "You're awful. Besides, I already have one kid with a taste for alcohol, I don't need another."

Jay was quiet for a moment before asking tentatively, "How is he, by the way? Did you ever get him to eat?"

Her diversion evaporated swiftly at the reminder of her stricken eldest. "No," she glumly answered. "He didn't want the soup."

An hour after Ash's outburst, Delia had been beside herself. But it wasn't so much his acrimonious words that plagued her, it was still his bouts of illness and lack of nourishment. Though she dreaded chancing herself to another ambush of blame, her motherly compulsion to care for him ultimately triumphed. She had ventured to his room to offer him a simple dinner, but Ash couldn't have been more unreceptive, uttering few words and not even granting her the courtesy of turning around in bed to meet her eye.

Grunting, Jay shook his head. "That's not good. Kid doesn't have anything in his stomach. Hasn't _had_ anything in his stomach."

"I know," Delia concurred sullenly.

"He's in no shape to go anywhere tomorrow."

"I know."

"Not gonna be a fun morning." He downed the rest of the beer in one sloshing gulp.

Clasping her eyes shut, Delia rested her forehead on the back of his neck. "I know," she reprised once more, her voice floundering at the disparaging fact.

"At this point, though," she admitted furthermore, "I'm just praying he actually _is_ here in the morning."

"He's not going anywhere tonight," said Jay with certainty Delia wished she could have.

"I don't know, Jay. He looked so serious when he said that."

Ash's threat of taking off in the middle of night was something that wouldn't stop tormenting Delia. It was a reasonable fear, given he'd already attempted a nighttime jaunt, and that was _before_ the possibility of Team Rocket's involvement came into play. Scarily, Ash taking off after everyone was asleep was something Delia could envision just as effortlessly as Jay gleefully firing his paintball gun at a group of local hoodlums.

"Yeah, but he knows better," said Jay.

"He does?"

"He should."

The slight revision did not go unnoticed by Delia. So, Jay wasn't one-hundred percent confident, either.

Just like that, her husband's plan to keep watch over the house suddenly felt more comforting than it did nerve-wracking. She was still edgy with the thought of Jay squaring off against any pranksters, but if he was otherwise able to prevent Ash from fleeing, then perhaps she wasn't going to badger him to turn in with her just yet.

Delia wondered if she _would_ be able sleep with all this worry consuming her, in spite of her crushing exhaustion.

Her silence must have been deafening, for Jay clasped a loving hand on her knee. "What's the matter?"

She shrugged; she wasn't really in the mood to discuss it, but she wasn't about to hide anything, either. "I don't know. I can't stop worrying. About everything."

"…Everything's going to be fine." Again, there was that cadence of calming surety, but Delia couldn't ignore the charged pause that preceded it, rendering it to nothing more than a mollifying remark.

"No it isn't, Jay," she scoffed. "You _honestly_ think we're going to find Pikachu?"

"It's possible," he offered. "Anything is possible."

"Of course it is, but…" She trailed off, smoothing her hands across his broad shoulders. "Signs are not exactly pointing in our favor."

Jay jiggled the bottle again, as if to see if more beer had magically rematerialized. Delia hoped he didn't go for another—he didn't need to keep drinking on top of it all.

"Well…even if we don't find Pikachu…" he sighed, wavering prudently before continuing, "…everything will still be okay. It'll suck and be horrible for a while, but…it'll get better…in time. Awful shit happens, but…but life does go on. It goes on."

He craned his head around and their solemn eyes locked. "We know how that is," he reminded quietly.

Though harking back to a reality that Delia wished had not been her own, she couldn't argue the point he had just made. Her two miscarriages were a tragedy and always would be, but life had come together beautifully for her and Jay the last couple of years. Ash, too. There were moments during those despairing periods she was convinced she'd never feel happiness again, but destiny had other ideas. The day she brought Riley home, flanked by her true love, her precious firstborn, and the two older children she'd adopted into her heart, proved that the most joyous of endings could succeed the most harrowing of nightmares.

"We do," she agreed, "but Ash doesn't. His heart'll be broken, Jay. Broken in a way that…that I don't know if I could help mend. I…I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."

"You'll handle it," said Jay encouragingly. "You'll help him."

But Delia shook her head. "Who knows if he'll even forgive me," she wondered grievously.

"Ash is going to forgive you," Jay's voice lowered with deep resolve. "Don't you worry about that."

It was all so easy for him to say.

"Maybe he will. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to forgive myself…knowing I'm the reason his heart's broken."

Her miserable remark had Jay taking hold of her shoulder firmly and nailing her with a reproachful look. "Hey, hey. Listen to me: I don't want you thinking that for another second, you hear me? You did _nothing wrong_."

Eyes glassy with oncoming tears, Delia's long face culled his adamant assertion. "I don't know about that."

"You do to. None of this is your fault, Delia!"

"Then whose is it?" she blubbered.

"_No one's_, okay?" her husband refuted decisively. "We don't play blame games in this house. That helps nothing and accomplishes nothing. I don't want you hanging on to what Ash said. Nothing you did was done to intentionally cause any of this! I can't believe he—he—" Jay cut himself off and bit his lip, clearly getting worked up. Ash's verbal attack hadn't settled well with him, either, but for a reason far different from Delia's.

He took a heavy breath, seemingly to compose himself. "He wasn't right to say those things to you," he declared through his teeth. "I-it was out of line. I should've shut him up sooner…"

"Jay, Jay," Delia interjected, placing a steadying hand on his chest. "It's okay. He was…he was just letting off some steam. I'm not taking it to heart. All right? I'm not."

She hated lying to him, but at least she felt better about it when it was done for good reason. While she appreciated how inflexible he was about her guiltlessness, part of her couldn't dispel the role she undeniably played in the ordeal. Hearing Ash condemn her for the acts she _did_ do only reiterated that in the tersest of ways. Still, she didn't see any need to feed Jay's already excessive ire. If he was going to rage at anyone, it may as well be the pranksters, not their already-suffering boy.

"All right," he conceded. He sounded somewhat dubious; nonetheless, he was calming down. "I mean it, though, I don't want you agonizing over this, Delia. Talk about things that aren't worth it!"

As he turned to gaze out the window again, Delia yielded a sad but touched smile. He meant that so heartily. It was uplifting to see he maintained a stable grasp on what truly mattered despite his own congealing exasperation. It did also make her feel genuinely better amid her issues with her accountability. Regardless of how much he may have covertly realized she _was_ the direct reason Pikachu was missing, he would do everything in his power to exorcise her mental burden—and he was succeeding…to a degree.

Daubing away the small pools of tears out of the corners of her eyes, Delia simply expressed her gratitude by slipping her arms around Jay's waist. She could feel he was still overwrought, his diaphragm rising and falling restlessly, and she hugged him tighter, as if her hold would lasso his temper to the metaphorical ground.

_Relax, honey, relax_, the action spoke. It killed her, this unrelenting anguish her family was ensnared in. No matter how desperately she wanted to take comfort in her husband's words, the returned state of peace he spoke of seemed far away—impossibly, hopelessly far away.

What good would future peace do for her in the coming days? The notion would be nothing but an illusion for her if Ash were to leave—that night, the next morning, _whenever_. She didn't care how competent he was out on the road, or how safe he was under the guardianship of his friends and the protection of his remaining pokémon. The chilling reality was that her child was ill, in body and in mind, and the thought of him leaving her sight in that condition petrified her. Not since Ash left on his journey had she felt such a ball of dread sitting in the depths of her gut.

Perhaps Jay could foretell months ahead, but there did remain a very immediate, unresolved matter at hand.

"What are we going to do about tomorrow morning?"

"We'll deal with it when we come to it, dearest," Jay replied soothingly—a safe answer, but one she strained to embrace. "I know you're worried about how he's going to be, but let's just see. Maybe he'll be fine. Maybe the sleep will do him good."

"Maybe," she granted guardedly. "But I'm still nervous about him leaving. He's…he's not thinking straight. And what if he still won't eat? Jay, I can't let him leave without eating!"

"_Shhhhh_." Jay squeezed her hand. "Delia. He's not leaving unless he's _okay_." He dragged the "okay" out emphatically.

Delia managed to nod, knowing full well that Jay meant that, that he wasn't just trying to pacify her; the "okay" did encompass a whole range of understood factors. He wouldn't let Ash go unless the boy was the picture of vitality. A quick prayer of thanks blazed through her head, solaced in that Jay _was_ there to uphold their efforts. God, what would she do if he wasn't, if this had happened...earlier? Save for begging, threatening, persuading—Delia realized there wasn't much else she could do to prevent Ash from leaving. Her authority would amount to nothing this time around; his blind resolve could force its way through any fight she'd put up. It made her hair stand on end, this realization of how ineffective she could be alone versus her son, but she hastily cast the thought away. It was pointless to rattle herself with an imaginary scenario. She had Jay, Jay was here, and Jay would ensure Ash would be steered correctly.

"Okay?" he sought her verbal consensus.

How could she not reward him with her trust? Her eyes brimming once again, overcome by the concurrent magnitude of her anxiety and relief, she gave him an affirming blink. "Okay."

Noticing her swelling emotion, Jay's brow furrowed with sympathy. Delicately, he reached out to trail the tips of his fingers through her hair and down the side of her face. She leaned in, relishing his healing touch. "My poor girl," he commiserated. "I hate to see you so upset. Take it easy, all right? I know, it's been one crummy ordeal. But I promise you everything'll be okay."

She nodded, eyelids pinched shut to suppress the tears.

"Why don't you head upstairs now? I'll be up in a minute, okay?"

Delia snapped to attention, thrown by the apparent change in plans. "Oh. B-but I thought you were going to…?"

Pursing his lips, Jay threw a sidelong glimpse out the curtains. "Yeahhh," he drawled, suddenly wishy-washy, "I…I _want_ to, trust me. _Trust me_. But…you're right. We do have a project awaiting us in the morning. Think it's more important to be ready to rise with the kid."

Delia almost laughed incredulously when his decision left her feeling slightly frustrated. She couldn't believe herself; here, she had dreaded him staying up and getting mentally pumped for a confrontation, only for that to flip-flop with the prospect of him guaranteeing Ash didn't take flight. Completely understandable in her view, but still. She wasn't about to reiterate her lingering fear to him again and tempt his weariness. No. It was time to toughen up and do what her husband had entreated of her: stop agonizing, settle down, and see to everything one step at a time.

She had to do that for herself, too.

"Besides," he added, cupping her face with a warm hand and continuing to survey what Delia could only imagine were some pretty pitiful features, "why does some miserable Blair Witch copycat deserve my attention when it's you who really needs it?"

Delia's chest fluttered with affection.

He chuckled. "Not to mention lying in bed with you is starting to sound a bit more appealing than sitting in front of this God-forsaken window all night."

Unable to check her smile any longer, Delia reached up to place her hand over his, wordlessly conveying her reception of his change of heart. Their heads instinctively tilted inward, and with a tender but still considerate grin, Jay pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

"Don't worry, though," he rumbled, the last of Delia's dogged trepidations flailing against the unassailable, confident tenor of his voice. "I'll be sleeping with one eye and one ear open. You don't have to. Nothing's gonna happen without me knowing it."

For the first time in days, she couldn't recall feeling so irrefutably allayed. Or so profoundly blessed.

* * *

Jessie could have really detested the repulsive old house they'd had little choice to hole up in. She could have grumbled over the fallen branches hidden in the long grasses that tripped her up every time she made her way to the back door. Could have cursed and screeched over the out-of-control vegetation that tore at her hair and snagged on her bag. Could have dreaded the warped flooring and the risk she took with each step. And, most of all, she could have vociferously rasped each time the pungent stench of decay flooded her nose.

The house's odor, actually, was something she had not only become accustomed to, but grown to appreciate. For her, it had become the smell of success, of rightness, of…home. While hiding away in such a place out of need could certainly do a number on one's dignity, Jessie could not help but associate the place with her uninhibited happiness.

She was home, and she felt great.

Her legs were weary to the point of trembling, having navigated miles of side roads to and from the center of town and several lost circles therein, searching out an evasive pay phone. She finally found one, did what she needed to do, and promptly started her way back, no break, no rest. Time was on her side, but her eagerness was too intense to rein in. The high she had been on the last couple days had yet to die down, but then, for what reason should it?

Well, there was one thing gnawing away at that elation: that her partners failed to feel the same way. It was a shame they couldn't all share in the enjoyment of their dominance of the situation. Sure, they had let her command nearly every aspect of the endeavor, but their mutual delight would have been nice. Of course, the news she was about to relay to them would surely lift their cantankerous moods, but she still regretted she couldn't divulge the _other_ fun accomplishment she'd made on the way home.

So, it would be her and Arbok's secret. Her faithful, slithery accomplice, who deserved nothing but lavish praise and plentiful treats for the role he'd just played. _Minus_ any griping or objection, she might add. It was wonderful, for once, to get a hand in carrying out a piece of her fabulous mega-prank without getting a supplementary earful or critical look for it.

There was still the matter of _executing_ the grand finale, but she wasn't worrying. She had gotten this far already without any major hiccups—or her partners up and ditching her. She could manage the one last virtuoso step.

Ascending the worn staircase probably more turbulently than the structure could afford to handle, Jessie barged into the bedroom much the same. She couldn't have suppressed her luminous beam if she tried. Her partners' heads wrenched up at her ostentatious entrance, but didn't fall in with her mirth. Their wide eyes bore into hers with demanding expectance, her hours-long outing no doubt leaving them on most excruciating of tenterhooks.

Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and savor the glory of her situation, Jessie proclaimed: "I've got good news and bad news."

James' lips flattened into a tense line. "I suppose I want to hear the bad news first." His dreadful tone only made Jessie's giddiness flare.

"Okay. I, um…" she started, purposely hesitating to incite suspense, "…lost my walkie-talkie."

James and Meowth were silent, their eyelids batting bewilderedly. Slowly but surely, however, their faces lifted, and Jessie did all she could to hold back a whoop of laughter as they realized just to what that alluded.

"And da good news…?" Meowth pressed, his voice elevated.

"The good news…is that headquarters is going to send a team to collect Pikachu!"

Her teammates erupted boisterously at the exuberant announcement.

"Finally!" Meowth exclaimed, more relieved than celebratory, paws soaring for the ceiling.

For the first time in days, James was gleaming. "That's fantastic!"

Jessie's head bobbed with gleeful agreement. Her heart was racing, not just from the gratification of their overjoyed reactions, but because the news _was_ fantastic. Despite her broadcasted confidence that her plan would be successful, she'd been nervous about calling headquarters. She always was. Sometimes, the calls were made out of indisposed necessity, requests for materials, money. Other times, they were reports of failure and appeals for another chance. While she had something positive to relate this time around, those first opening seconds on the phone with her superiors had her quivering just as badly.

"When will they be here?" James inquired excitedly.

"Yeah!" Meowth chorused, springing over to the window to gaze out into the night, as if expecting to see their deliverers marching through the front yard. "How much longer do we gotta hang around in dis moldy joint?"

"Don't put your coat on just yet," Jessie replied. "They aren't going to be here for quite a few hours. They said we can expect agents to arrive sometime in the middle of the night—before dawn."

James' euphoria sobered as he took in the information, but he nodded. "Well, that's not too bad," he granted. "As long as they're coming…"

"They're coming," Jessie affirmed emphatically. "I made sure they knew how serious the situation was with Pikachu." On cue, the two glanced at the mouse, who looked as horrible as ever but otherwise stable. "They're just waiting to dispatch until the world dies down a little bit."

"How was it?" her partner narrowed his eyes apprehensively. "The call, that is?"

"Call was fine," Jessie testified.

"They weren't…upset?"

"I think they were ready to be as soon as I said who was calling," she grinned lightly. "But once they heard we had Pikachu, they were all business. I think they're more than happy to send some help."

_And get this assignment _over with, she added to herself. Her partners were no doubt thinking the same thing—no need to voice it.

"Well, no one'll be happier dan _me_ when dey get here, dat's for sure!" Meowth declared fervently.

Jessie sighed. Here, she was thinking she would at last get some semblance of amiability from her partners. What a silly expectation. "We know, Meowth. You've made it quite clear you're done with this operation."

"It's not just the operation—it's _dis_ _house_! I almost can't wait the coupla hours! I'm suffocating in here!"

Perhaps he was being overdramatic, but when reminded of the house's stuffiness, Jessie couldn't help but attest. The air _was_ oppressive. It had been nice to get out of the dump for a while; the clean, brisk air and the vigorous pace of her passage had been more revitalizing than she realized at the time.

Considering that, Jessie observed Pikachu again, and her brow furrowed. Maybe this wasn't the _best_ environment to facilitate the pokémon's waning health…

She quickly dismissed the concern. It was a nonfactor now; they weren't going to leave—they couldn't. The rat would _have_ to deal a little while longer.

Actually, he would have to do more than deal. She needed him, and not just as their ticket to the acclaim they pursued. While James and Meowth undoubtedly viewed the added time they'd have to spend in the house as excruciating, Jessie couldn't help but feel under the gun. All she needed was a minute, maybe two, to perform her next move, but she couldn't do it with James and Meowth present…not if she wanted to preserve the last bit of their support she had.

And then, as if she hadn't experienced a lifetime of good fortune in the recent days, her secret plea was met. Meowth was suddenly stomping towards the door.

"I gotta get outta here for a few minutes!" he groused. "I need t'breathe!"

Jessie's stomach did a somersault. Her best chance was all but colliding with her. Acting instantly on the opportunity, she spun to James.

"Why don't you join him?"

James looked flummoxed at her abrupt suggestion, but to Jessie's relief, he seemed enticed. "Uh, sure. I could use some fresh air," he confessed. "You too?"

With a stiff smile, trying her best to screen the thrill electrifying her, Jessie shook her head. "I'll pass; I was just out there. Besides…" She moseyed over to Pikachu's crate. "I'd like to have a moment with Pikachu—alone, if that's okay."

Meowth gave her a face. "Ah…okay. But what for?"

As Jessie hovered above him, Pikachu roused. Even through the weak slits, Jessie could feel the animosity in his eyes zoning in on her.

"I just want to…relish this," she answered almost breathlessly. She took comfort in the fact that she wasn't _completely_ lying. "These are our final hours with Pikachu. We've worked ourselves to death for years for this one defining moment. I almost feel like I should…appreciate Pikachu as long as I can. Have a moment to take it all in, consider where we are, how this—" Jessie gestured triumphantly to Pikachu, "—is going to change our lives for the better, _tonight_."

For an awkward moment, Jessie feared her teammates weren't buying it, that her appeal was way too corny, and therefore suspicious. And perhaps they did feel that, but nevertheless, they offered an indifferent shrug and took their leave without any further questioning. Evidently, escaping the unventilated house took a larger precedence over understanding her bizarre motives.

"Take your time!" she sang as she heard the dilapidated staircase protest under their trudge.

It wasn't until their footfalls tapered off entirely that she sprang to work. Pikachu jolted in his crate, startled, as she leapt over to the cabinet and scrambled to grab the other walkie-talkie. Her hands shook, fumbling with the device to the point of nearly dropping it, until she forced herself to settle down. James and Meowth were not going to be back in less than five minutes, she assured herself with a deep breath. After volunteering to watch over their captor, she wouldn't have been surprised if they loitered out there for an hour.

"All right, Pikachu: here's the deal," she got right to it, kneeling beside the crate, her face mere inches from his. As sick as he was, Pikachu's head raised and he regarded her cautiously.

"I know what we're doing isn't great," she owned up. "Isn't ethical. It's downright terrible, to be precise."

Crowding his personal space was obviously making the mouse nervous, wary of an unexpected move. Jessie had to give Pikachu credit for being this on-guard in his appalling state. To think the mouse had no more fight left in him would be painfully ignorant. Pikachu was going to find strength in his deepest reserves to resist his seizure till he was absolutely no longer able to; Jessie was more than mindful of this.

"But I want you to know something: James, Meowth, and me? We aren't bad people," she explained. "Well, okay—we aren't _very_ bad people. You'll disagree, but you have to understand: we have a job, and we're not exactly in a position where we can pick and choose what we want to do. We had to do this—to survive. It…might have gotten a bit personal in the last couple years, I admit, but it was never supposed to _be_ that way. We were never out to take you from the twerp just for the hell of it, just to create misery in both your lives. Not that I'm expecting you or him to believe that, but…that's the truth."

The mouse was listening, though Jessie highly doubted from comprehension. Which was a shame, because it all sounded _so good_. But even if he could understand her perfectly, who knew how much of this Pikachu would accept as fact. If the rat was as intelligent as he was made out to be, he would have easily detected just how much Jessie had been luxuriating in her latest dastardly actions.

But none of her clever spiel mattered in the long run, anyway. Gullible or not, Pikachu was bound to oblige to Jessie's forthcoming request. There was no way in the world he would resist such an opportunity.

"So I decided to come up with a way I can prove to you that I'm not the horrible monster you think I am," she continued. "And also to help me with my guilt."

The outrageousness of that statement almost had her cracking up. Thank goodness acting skills were just a fragment of her overall dexterity, and she was able to keep a straight face.

Jessie couldn't check her sweeping grin, though, when she tipped the device alluringly in Pikachu's face. "See this walkie-talkie?" she touted. "What if I told that with this walkie-talkie, you could talk to your dear, twerpy trainer—Ash?"

At the sound of his trainer's name, Pikachu visibly perked, his ears faintly cocking upward. Jessie did all she could to keep her smile from curving wickedly. She had the pokémon's attention.

"That's right," she went on. "I'll let you in on a little secret. The other walkie-talkie I told James and Meowth I lost? I didn't lose it. I dropped it off at the twerp's house." She chuckled. "Actually, Arbok did. I had him put it somewhere…_hidden_. But I promise you: the kid'll still be able to hear whatever comes out of it."

Obviously, she was banking on her promise being accurate. Jessie had done everything she could think of to ensure this plan went off as superbly as she'd conceived. She'd made sure the walkie-talkie was ready to receive transmission and that the volume was turned up to the max before handing it to Arbok. Jessie could have never pulled off what the snake then did undetected. Arbok had glided his way through the most concealed and lush areas of the twerp's yard and was able to successfully place the walkie-talkie deep in the bushes below Ash's bedroom window with nary a fallen leaf disturbed. The feat had Jessie bursting with pride. If for some reason this ploy didn't work, Arbok was definitely not to blame.

Up to now, however, everything was going according to plan. Jessie's entire body was taut with anticipation. Here went nothing.

"So…to show you that I _do_ have a heart, I'm going to give you the chance to talk to him—say goodbye. You can call it a peace offering, if you will."

Pikachu was undoubtedly captivated. It was the most alert he'd been, which indicated to Jessie he truly knew what was being offered, that a means of communication with his beloved trainer was at hand.

"We can't let James and Meowth know about this, though," she warned, frowning. She meant it. "If they knew I was doing this, they'd throw a fit and try to stop it. They want to whisk you off as fast as possible to the boss…and I do, too, but…I still can't help but feel terrible about it all. So, for me to feel better, and for you to feel better, I'm going to let you go ahead and say a few last things to him."

Jessie held the walkie-talkie up to the bars of the crate, her finger poised over the "talk" button. "It's the least I can do, to show you how…sorry I am," she closed, flawlessly at that, feeling ever so pleased with the emotive, believable masterpiece she'd just imparted to the helpless mouse.

It was strictly up to Pikachu now. With just one utterance delivered into the device, the pokémon would unknowingly contribute to the very scheme that had been plaguing his trainer to the point of sickness and irrationality. Not to mention playing a starring role in the most brilliant and pitiless reenactment of the movie she could have ever envisaged. The irony of it all was so unbelievably great Jessie had to firmly keep herself from bouncing gleefully in place.

"Go on, Pikachu," she urged. "Talk loud and clear, now! He's not going to be able to answer you, but he'll hear you—he'll _hear you say goodbye_!" She held down the button, and the walkie-talkie beeped in response, ready to go.

The anticipation was almost too much to bear. Jessie was becoming fidgety as Pikachu regarded the walkie-talkie contemplatively. For a nerve-wracking moment, she feared he wasn't going to comply. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if the kid could hear it through the device.

Desperately, impatiently, she placed a palm over the microphone, muffling her final whispered appeal: "_This is your last chance!_"

Pikachu's dull eyes wavered. He looked distressed. What was the matter? Did he not want to talk to Ash? Did he suspect it was a trap of some sort? Jessie found herself all-out panicking now. Such a simple thing she needed, and she wasn't getting it. Was this how her ingenious project was going to anticlimactically end, all because the stupid rat didn't want to bid farewell to the boy he supposedly cherished?

Screw that—if she had to _force_ the words out of the pokémon's mouth, she was going to…

All of a sudden, though, Pikachu uttered something…or _tried to_. Jessie froze—she'd scarcely heard it, but she was positive he'd _definitely_ made an attempt. She leaned in attentively to verify. Sure enough, the mouse was striving to talk again, but all that were coming out were frail, hoarse squeaks.

_Oh my God, yes! Come on, come on!_ Jessie cheered in her head, her body racing with tension. _Talk!_

"Pikaaa…" But Pikachu was laboring, his terribly idle vocal chords failing him when he—and Jessie—demanded them most. Jessie could see his resolve, though—could hear his speech strengthening, and she embraced it with fierce hope. It would only be a matter of minutes till her vision was realized! Her raging edginess was making it feel like eons, though.

"Pika…piiii…" Pikachu coughed and gasped and tossed his head restlessly, annoyed at his struggle.

Despite her optimism, though, Jessie's expectant smile started to fade. She couldn't help but become progressively concerned as she witnessed his painful exertion, foreboding thoughts gradually blanketing positive ones. Just _what_ was wrong with the mouse? How stricken _was_ he that he couldn't muster the energy to produce a single, easy exclamation?

Not only was her final devious effort in jeopardy of not transpiring, but worse…was there the off chance Pikachu might not even…make it to headquarters…?

Thankfully, that hasty, bone-chilling fret was extinguished before it had the chance to consume her. For just as it did three years ago on the occasion of their first meeting, and innumerable times thereafter, Pikachu's irrepressible ability managed to surprise Jessie in the most astonishing of ways.

The piercing, frantic call that finally exploded from his throat was the most glorious, yet haunting sound to ever echo in her ears.

* * *

"_PIKAPI!_"

Ash's head snapped up as he was wrenched abruptly from his restless slumber. Immediately, his heavy head tried to clear itself of its disorientation and his eyes, wide but glazed, scrambling to focus. The room was pitch black and his body felt like it had been literally trampled, but perhaps the most burdening of all was the dense, uncomforting stillness that surrounded him. What had he just heard?

"Pikachu…?" he croaked, his voice low and raspy. On shaky but resolute arms, Ash quickly lifted himself up. His breath raced to catch up to his suddenly pulsating heart. "Pikachu?!"

Silence. His attention directed at the bleak sky beyond his windowpane, Ash did all he could to keep still and alert, straining with all his might to hear again what had hauled him into consciousness. A moment passed, only succeeding in allowing the quietness to permeate and Ash's adrenaline to surge more violently.

_What had he heard?!_

Wasting not another second, Ash ripped the covers off and propelled himself out of bed. Not caring at all how much noise he was making this time around, he stumbled his way to the window. After nearly pinching his finger trying to desperately undo the lock, Ash raised the shutter and was greeted with a fresh, cold reminder of the October night.

Billows of his breath firing into the crisp air, Ash frantically looked about his yard drowned by shadows. The crescent moon was masked with clouds and the streetlight's gleam barely reached this corner of his property, making him struggle to catch sight of any sign of activity.

"Pikachu?!" he called out, not loudly but certainly not in a whisper, either. "_Pikachu_!"

Not a single movement or sound answered his hysterical calls, his yard remaining just as deadly dormant as he had found it. All this resulted in nothing but a swell of panicked confusion working its way through Ash's edgy limbs.

"Pikachu!"

"Hnnn? Ash?"

Ash's head whipped around, Brock's voice taking him by surprise in his concentrated fervor.

"Wuz'a matter?" he asked unintelligibly, his vocal chords laboring to work after hours of disuse.

"I heard Pikachu," Ash replied sharply, turning back toward the window.

Brock fought to raise his weary head. "Wha? Are you sure…?"

His knuckles whitening as he clutched the windowsill, Ash dazedly shook his head. "N-no. No, I'm not sure. But I could've _sworn_…"

It just didn't make sense. Outside, the world was at a leaden standstill. Even the crickets' song was decidedly weaker than it had been nights before, no doubt as a result of increased cold. Predictably, nothing seemed to be going on at this late time of night. But there was no doubt in Ash's mind that_ something_ had aroused him. He knew he was not sleeping soundly—even Brock shifting in bed had stirred him numerous times—so any little noise would have woken him. The more he thought of this, the more he was convinced that he had just been alerted by his pokémon's urgent cry.

And the fact that Pikachu was not responding told him one thing—something was not right.

"I _know_ I heard him!" Ash contradicted himself.

The fierce assertion in his tone jerked Brock further out of his stupor, and he quickly sat up in bed as Ash flipped the light switch, dousing the room in blinding light.

"A-Ash!" he cried, shielding his assaulted eyes. "What are you—?!"

"I gotta check outside," Ash said turbulently. His own eyes screaming at him from the abuse, he jostled clumsily across his room to gather his sweatshirt and shoes.

"But you said you don't know—"

"I'm not taking that chance, Brock!" he all but bawled.

Ash had no time to discuss the situation with his friend. He felt every second that ticked by torturously, impelling him to almost want to throw himself out the window if only to get outside faster. His wild haste combining with his fatigue, he almost tripped over himself as he shoved his bare feet haphazardly into his sneakers. Not bothering to waste more time tying the laces, Ash then took off out of the room.

"Ash, _wait_!"

The darkness of the hallway would have intimidated and slowed anyone else, but Ash rushed through as if it were lit with high beams. Brock's shout simply became part of the milieu that he blocked from his perception, his concentration zeroed in on nothing but the glimmer of hope that Pikachu was right outside his home, summoning him, greatly in need of help. With each pounding step, Ash's drive to rescue his pokémon intensified.

But suddenly, the surroundings that he unwisely chose to ignore reached out to brutally repossess his attention.

Sliding rapidly and violently down the staircase on his rear end was not Ash's preferred method of getting to the first floor, but unfortunately, that's how fate decided it for him. It all happened way too fast—Ash found his momentum brusquely halted, one foot still going and the other not quite as willing, and in the next instant, he found himself sprawled at the base of the stairs and in a world of searing pain.

He was too stupefied to move, too hurt to reflect on what just transpired. Instinctively, he tried to maneuver and ease the pressure on his aching tailbone, but just the slight twist of his body proved to be even worse.

"ASH!"

The hall flooded with light. Brock's thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs caused the floor to quake and Ash to let out a shrill whimper at the added torment.

"Oh my God, are you all right?!" Brock asked worriedly, dropping to the floor beside his stricken friend.

Ash's face was constricted horribly. "No, I'm not, it hurts it hurts it _hurts_," he ground out through bared, clenched teeth. He tried to shift again but the pain stopped him harshly. "Ow, ow, ow, _oww_!"

"What is it, what hurts?!"

"M-my tailbone. I fell on my tailbone," he whined.

"Oh, man," Brock groaned, wincing in sympathy.

Not a second later, another barrage of stampeding shook the stairs, and Ash found the space above him crowded with the hovering, anxious forms of his parents.

"Oh my goodness, what happened?" Delia knelt before her son, her face overwhelmed with distress.

"He fell down the stairs. Hurt his tailbone," Brock filled in, jumping to his feet to allow room for the concerned mother to take over.

"Oh, no, Ash!" she gasped, giving him a rapid once-over, scanning for any other obvious injuries. "Are you okay?"

"No…it hurts so much," Ash moaned miserably, knocking his head back against the wall. Tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes, the pain growing stronger by the second. He couldn't remember a time when he was in such indescribable agony.

"How far did you fall from?" Jay questioned.

Ash tried to recall his plunge—he had gone down so quickly. "I dunno…a-almost from the top. I tripped—slid all the way down."

"Is that all you hurt—just your tailbone?" Delia was restless to verify.

"I dunno, I think so." His face skewed fiercely when another unforgiving twinge rocketed up his spine. "_Owwww_. Mom, Mom. It hurts so bad…"

Beside herself over his anguished cries, Delia nodded. "I know it does, I know it does. Come on," she said tenderly, offering her hand. "Let's get you up."

Ash didn't seem happy to comply, but took her hand. Jay jumped in right away to assist, as Delia was faltering under her aching son's burden. As he sympathetically helped his son totter to his feet, Ash yelping and cringing with each small effort, he looked down to check if the boy was walking properly. The sting of a bruised tailbone could certainly distract from other injuries until stress was applied, and with a crash as frighteningly loud as Ash's had been, Jay was not quick to deem Ash completely okay.

It was only then that he noticed the long laces of Ash's sneakers trailing across the floor. Well, that certainly answered one question…but opened the floodgate for another. _Why_ was Ash wearing his sneakers?

"Ash, your shoelaces," he pointed out.

"Huh?" Ash, leaning on his mother for support, gave his dad a bewildered look before glancing down at his feet. All in that instant, the reason for his ill-fated rush came sweeping back into his consciousness. His face paled and his heart leapt to his throat.

"Oh—oh my God! Pikachu!" How could he have forgotten?!

He realized just how quickly enough. As soon as he tried to dart from his addled mother, his busted tailbone reminded him all too savagely. A near-scream unceremoniously burst from his mouth as his legs buckled from under him, the merciless pain flaring down even to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"Ash!" Delia quickly bolstered him, but Ash only used her brace to vainly try to boost himself off again. Her grip tightened on his arms instinctively, restraining him from fleeing all the more.

"But Pikachu—"

"What about Pikachu?" Jay asked edgily, his son's excruciation making his mind spin in chaos.

"I heard Pikachu outside! He's outside! Th-that's why I came down!" Ash explained feverishly. When he grudgingly realized that there was no way he could contend with the pain, the dire plea exploded from his lips. "Dad, he's outside! Please go get him!"

The certitude and demand in his voice caused Jay to do just that without a moment of hesitation, much to Ash's relief. As he watched his dad and Brock hurry out of the house, he allowed his mom to lead him carefully over to the couch. It was only then that he sensed another presence across the room, and turned to see a very quiet, unassuming Misty observing the disorder from the middle of the staircase. In all the calamity, he hadn't even realized she was there. And as he was hit with a sudden rush of embarrassment over his current circumstance, he found himself wishing she wasn't there at all. Quickly and awkwardly, he tore his gaze away from hers.

"Oh, Ash," his mom lightly scolded. In the sudden peace, Ash could hear exhaustion laced with Delia's concern. "What are you doing running around with your shoelaces untied? You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

Ash chose not to respond, her reproach making him feel slightly ashamed and foolish. He didn't need the extra reminder of his recklessness—the knife stabbing his tailbone relentlessly was doing a fine enough job already.

"Let me go get you some ice," Delia sighed. She looked a bit overwhelmed for a moment, lingering before heading for the kitchen, but Ash was too preoccupied to focus on her fatigue. Nor did he pay any mind to Misty as she inched her way down the stairs. His eyes glued to the closed front door, he waited attentively for either Jay or Brock to return with his precious companion.

Delia soon reappeared with a bag of frozen peas. "C'mere," she beckoned him over gently. "Sit down on this. It'll feel better."

Grinding his teeth, Ash shuffled his way gingerly to the couch and accepted the peas.

"How hard did you hit it?" Delia sat on the ottoman as she watched him delicately lower himself onto the frozen bag. "Do you think you broke it?"

"I don't know, Mom," Ash replied almost impatiently. He didn't know what Delia was talking about; pressing the unbearably frigid ice to the smarting bone did not make it feel _at all_ better. As soon as he sank his backside onto it, he jolted from the shock of pain it triggered and shrieked in response.

"Oh, dear. Maybe I should check it—"

"No, thank you!" Ash hastily objected.

"Okay, okay!" Delia conceded, holding up her hands in surrender.

Blushing, Ash determinedly settled on the makeshift icepack, biting back his whimpers. Yeah, it hurt like hell, there was absolutely no denying that, but Ash could deal with it. He would heal…he hoped. Unfortunately, Delia's inquiry did stir some worry in the back of his mind—at the moment, his tailbone didn't feel broken. It felt _pulverized_. He was still a brush away from erupting into childish caterwauls over it, but for the sake of his pride and the critical issue at hand, he would muddle through. In and out, he drew deep and calming breaths as he tried to cope bravely with the unyielding torture.

Meanwhile, Misty was still being awfully unobtrusive…or indifferent—Ash couldn't really tell with his scrambled brain. Either way, her company was not doing much in the way of consoling him. Edging her way to the patio doors, she softly pushed the long curtains aside to peer out into the night. The action made him perk.

"Wh-what's happening out there?" he ventured. She startled, regardless of how innocent and anticipated his question should have been.

Tucking her loose, tangled hair behind her ears, Misty glanced back out. "Nothing. I don't see them. They must be in the backyard."

The fact that Jay and Brock had been outside for more than a few minutes was beginning to disturb Ash greatly. If Pikachu were out there, how had they not located him yet? Unwittingly, his faith was starting to fade, and fear and disappointment were prevailing. Which, he couldn't help but detect, seemed to be distressing his girlfriend all the same.

Misty seated herself at the end of the couch. She looked especially lethargic, much like his mother, and Ash was reminded once again that it _was_ hours after they'd all turned in.

"Are you okay?" Misty asked apprehensively. For a moment, Ash could have sworn that he felt the pain of his tailbone abate somewhat with her comforting, sweet tone. Still, he found her presence uneasy, their earlier uncongenial talk still fresh on his mind.

"I don't—I guess so," he replied sloppily. "Doesn't matter. I just want them to find him."

"You really heard him out there?"

Biting his lip, Ash blinked long and hard. "I know I did."

"If he's out there, Dad will find him," mumbled Delia. Haggardly, she reached out to run a hand through his hair, but her fingers pausing midway within his knotted mop. Even the slightest of efforts to comfort him lacked any kind of energy.

Suddenly, the front door swung open. Jay and Brock hustled into the house, their shoulders hunched from taking on the cold in skimpy pajamas and bare feet. The first thing Ash looked for and noticed, naturally, was that Pikachu was not among them. Panic seized his heart.

"Where's Pikachu?"

Winded from his brisk excursion, Jay's face fell in regret. "Sorry, buddy…he—he wasn't out there."

Ash shook his head incredulously. "NO! No, that can't be right! He—_AHH_!" Once more, his hysteria caused him to neglect his condition, and an attempt at getting up was cruelly thwarted by his injury.

"Ash, don't move, don't move," Jay ordered. He had nervously expected this reaction, and was determined to stop it before Ash hurt himself any further. "Take it easy. I'm sorry. I…I don't know what to tell you. But he's not out there."

"Yes, he is! He _ha_s to be!" Ash barked back, gasping from the physical and emotional agony assaulting him. He jerked his head away from his mom's drifting hand as it went to console him again. "I heard him! I know I did!"

"I—I don't know what you heard, but he's not—"

"Yes, he _is_—you just didn't look hard enough!"

"_Ash_—" Jay's countering dispute was suddenly interrupted by the piercing, unhappy wails of his infant son a floor above. His eyes rolled heaven-ward, cursing the unwelcome addition to the mayhem.

"Oh, no," Delia groaned. Riley didn't usually awaken around this time, which meant he wasn't hungry—just disturbed. Listlessly, she attempted to haul herself up to attend to her protesting baby.

Brock wasn't blind to her sluggishness. Hurriedly, he put a hand out in restraint. "Ma, Ma! Don't worry—I got 'im, I got 'im. Stay there."

Before Delia even had a chance to graciously decline his offer, Brock was scaling the stairs two at a time. Quite frankly, she was more than relieved—she had enough troubled sons to deal with at the moment. Though she briefly wondered if Riley would have been easier to pacify…

For Jay, Riley's interference actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It gave him a break from Ash's onslaught to get his firm but considerate justification in.

"Ash, listen to me," he said as calmly as his growing frustration would allow. God, if he wasn't so_ damn tired_. "I…I'm not sure what you heard. But, son, he's _not out there_. Brock and I checked all over the yard, we called out for him. If he was there, we would have found him. I'm sorry. I wish that wasn't the case, but it is. Okay? Just, please—you gotta calm down now."

Ash took this in with a smoldering level of indignation. Somewhere buried underneath that anger was the flagging remains of the belief that his grief-stricken prayers had finally been answered. His resilient denial and Jay's blunt reality-check promptly went to war within his hammering heart.

"I don't want to calm down," he grumbled surly. This elicited narrowed eyes from his father, who clearly did not like that his speech went unheeded. "I want to go out and look for Pikachu. Because I know he's out there. Maybe _you_ couldn't find him, but _I_ can."

The silence that followed that avowal seemed to be more awkward than the raucous clash that preceded it. Misty squirmed uncomfortably on the couch, hating the fact that she was (literally) in the middle of a swiftly-brewing, concentrated battle.

_Ash…what are you doing?_ She knew her boyfriend better than anyone, and she knew her boyfriend's temperamental father well enough. And she knew that when the two of them disagreed, things could get ugly. The look on Ash's face, coupled with his blatantly confrontational statement, sent chills through her body.

Just as pigheaded as his son, Jay decided to step it up a bit. "You can barely move. You wanna go outside and look for Pikachu? Be my guest."

Ash's rigid stare never unlocked with his father's. It was all he could offer as he strived to come up with some sort of defensive retort to Jay's challenge. The truth in Jay's accusation delivered an almost fiercer sting than his wounded tailbone.

"Ash," Delia sighed, her tired eyes beseeching. "Honey…let's get you to bed now, okay? We…we'll talk about this more in the morning."

The staring contest between Ash and Jay continued.

"Can you make it up the stairs? Or do you want to stay here?" she pressed on. With each word, her voice dragged more and more. And yet, in spite of the worn plea in her tone, Ash remained obstinately silent. Resignedly, Delia looked to Misty.

"Misty, baby, do me a favor—do Ash a favor? Run upstairs and get his pillow, please?"

"Sure," Misty nodded, dashing off to comply with Delia's request.

Jay watched Misty jog up the stairs more rapidly than he would have expected. He didn't blame her—she wanted to get away from that uncomfortable scene as fast as possible. He wanted to escape, too—but for a different reason. It was too late to be as exasperated as he was becoming. Left with the remnants of an unpleasant scene before him, he knew it was up to him to clean it up at once—put a solid end to this crazy affair and get his family to bed.

And the person who definitely needed this more than anyone was his wife. One glimpse at her and there was no denying how disturbingly tired she looked. Delia had enough to deal with attending to Riley every night; even when he tended to the baby, Delia unavoidably woke up, too. The added worry of Ash's troubles and unpredictability was starting to unmistakably show in her swollen face and droopy eyes.

"Delia, go to bed."

Delia acknowledged Jay's command with only a concise nod. "I will in a minute."

"No," Jay said firmly. "You're exhausted. You need sleep. I'll take care of everything—even Riley. Please—go to bed."

Delia knew his stern tone was entirely out of worry for her, but that gave her no lesser reason to defy the request. Stealing one glance at his resolute frown through her glazed eyes, she heaved another sigh and placed a gentle hand on Ash's head.

"Ash…are you going to be okay, sweetheart?"

Finally, Ash rewarded her with an answer. "Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I will."

"Are you _sure_ you're not hurt? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

The idea of capping the evening with a lengthy emergency room visit sent a shudder through Ash—no, that _definitely_ would add nothing positive to the situation. Wincing, he readjusted himself on the rapidly thawing bag of peas.

"I'm fine," he said, hoping he wasn't lying to her or himself.

"Okay. You call if you need me." With a tender, prolonged kiss to his hair, Delia rose and made her way to the stairs. "Goodnight."

"I'll be up in a minute, Del," Jay said, his eyes remained securely fixed on her until she disappeared to the second floor. His heart went out to his poor, worn-out wife. Delia was going to get a good-night's sleep—he'd make sure of it. Ending Riley's nightly protocols were impossible, but Ash's were going to end _now_.

Jay noted that Ash seemed to be acutely aware of the forthcoming discussion. Then again, he figured his son would be delirious if Jay's demeanor wasn't a dead give-away. For someone so seriously on the defensive moments ago, certain that Pikachu was indeed alive and well on the welcome mat of their home, the kid was now clearly disinclined to so much as make eye-contact with his father.

"Ash," he said, leaning on the arm of the couch. Though his tone demanded it, Ash still refused to grant him his attention. "Look at me."

Ash hated to do it but finally obeyed, bitterness flashing in his brown eyes. Jay was almost taken aback by the look; he could never get over how easily his son could secrete his feelings with one simple gaze. He was dealing with one unhappy boy, and he quickly tried to formulate a game plan to work with that accordingly.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you," he started, his voice low with equal parts austerity and compassion. "I know you're scared. And upset, and sad. I know. It sucks, and I feel horrible about it. I pray to God everyday that you get Pikachu back so you can stop going through this."

The genuineness of his father's words had a tiny effect in placating Ash's tender psyche, but he still found looking at Jay difficult. It was obvious there was going to be more to this lecture than a simple acceptance of his grief. He could sense the "but" coming on.

"But, Ash? This getting up in the middle of the night to search for Pikachu? And waking up the entire house? It needs to stop. _Tonight_."

Ash was equipped with his reason. "I only got up because I heard him outsi—"

"You didn't hear him," Jay cut him off. Pikachu had not been outside, and unless the pokémon had the intelligence and gal to pull off the most outrageous of pranks, Ash had been imagining it. "You were dreaming."

Annoyed at being interrupted and having the practical excuse of his semi-conscious imagination thrown at him, Ash arched his back defiantly. "I. _Wasn't_. _Dreaming_!"

"Dreaming it, imagining it—_whatever_," Jay replied tersely. "The fact is he _isn't out there_. And you need to accept that."

"No," Ash said unwaveringly.

Jay felt his temples begin to pulsate. "_Fine_. Then don't accept it, Ash. Don't. But I mean it—you aren't to get up any more at night to go looking for Pikachu. You understand me? After everyone goes to bed, you _stay_ in bed. Pikachu being missing has disturbed this house enough; we don't need you waking everyone up just because you think you hear something, or because you're just impatient."

"All you have to do is ignore me," countered Ash, obviously nowhere near giving in to Jay's order. "What do you care, anyway?"

"I don't give a crap about me, son." Jay moved in closer on Ash and narrowed his eyes gravely. "But your mother is _exhausted_. She hasn't gotten decent sleep in months. And now, ever since you told her you might bail out of here in the middle of the night, she's been terrified of you leaving while she's asleep. I can see it's worrying her to the point where she'snot getting rest. And that has to stop. Got it? It's bad enough that she's up with Riley every night."

"Yeah, but I don't see you going to Riley and yelling at _him_ to quit waking Mom up," his son retorted.

Jay's fingers dug into the fabric of the couch. "Watch where your smart mouth is going."

"You don't care that _I_ can't sleep!" The cheek was barely gone, but was now sprinkled with a tinge of hurt.

"I do to care." Jay tried with all his might to keep his irritability in check. "I'm not trying to be a bad guy here. I told you, it kills me that this is happening to you. I'm sorry you can't sleep. But that does _not_ give you permission to leave this house after lights are out. Do you understand that?"

"What difference does it make?!" Ash snarled, his own impatience mounting. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, anyway!"

"It makes a _huge_ difference! You are _torturing_ _your mother_! You are _not_ leaving here tonight!"

"But what if leaving tonight means the difference between me finding Pikachu or not?!"

Jay's nostrils flared at that. "You aren't going to find Pikachu!" he bellowed.

Ash's eyes widened, and right away Jay knew that was way too harsh and uncalled for in this disjointed moment. But dammit, he was _fed up_. It was obvious the kid was not going to yield without a fight. Determinedly, he leaned in on Ash, who responded to his father's looming presence by sinking deeper into the couch and cringing from the agonizing stress on his tailbone.

"Listen to me. I didn't mean it like that. Okay?" he apologized, yet bitingly. "I'm not giving up hope on finding Pikachu—I'm not. But Ash, it's starting to look more and more unlikely that he's just going to show up like he went for a long stroll around Pallet. And I think you _know that_."

Despite backtracking on his impetuous statement, Jay's philosophy didn't help Ash feel any less distraught and livid. Words flew to the boy's lips before they even seemed to derive in his head. "_You_ don't know anything!" he sneered.

"I know one thing," disputed Jay firmly. "And that's that you will _not_ leave this house before we get up tomorrow morning. _If_ I even let you do that. Got it?"

Ash could feel his father's intolerance with each dense, hot breath hitting his clammy face. Though daunted by Jay's stringency, it was too much for him for Jay to ask—no, _insist_—that he restrict himself from anything he could do to find Pikachu. His dad clearly just _did not understand_.

"Sorry," he uttered. "I can't promise that."

It was one of those rare times Ash wasn't sure what the smarter thing to do was: tell the truth, or lie and hope everything panned out. And while it became clear to him immediately that telling the truth was, indeed, not the best way to go at the moment, a little part of him was mightily proud that he did.

Jay wasn't pleased with his honesty. In an instant, his nose was mere inches from Ash's, eyes blistering with incontestable authority. Ash mustered every ounce of nerve not to fold under his dad's dominance.

"You can promise that, and you _will_ promise that," Jay said in a tone that was not to be tested. "Because I swear, Ash, I catch you trying to leave this house again tonight? You think your ass hurts now? I'll make sure you can't sit down till _Christmas_."

If looks could set fires, Jay would have ignited on the spot. With a face flushed red with fury and mortification, Ash managed to give his father the most vicious glare his young eyes could produce. It was hardly enough to put off Jay.

"Waiting for that promise, Ashton."

Ash could feel the burn of tears coming on. His lips quivered, resisting the urge to scream at his glowering father every negative thought rushing through his brain, but he knew he was beat, and did what he needed to do. It was never smart to discount Jay's threats as empty, especially in his delicate state of exasperation. He wasn't even confident his injury would exempt him.

"Promise."

Jay scowled a few seconds more for good measure, then lifted himself off the couch and out of Ash's personal space. A rush of cold air hit Ash, making him realize just how much body-heat his fuming father had been giving off. Not even a goodnight was offered by Jay as he stormed noisily up the stairs.

Who was making the racket _now_? Ash scoffed cynically to himself as his eyes trailed the one-man stampede.

And that's when every muscle in his body stiffened. Because then he spotted Misty, her arms burdened with his pillow and blanket, pausing shyly in the middle of the staircase to allow Jay to squeeze by her. Hastily, Ash looked down and away, humiliation turning over his stomach. Crap, he had forgotten _all_ about her! Justifiably, but _still_. How long had she been standing there?!

It was all becoming too overwhelming. Pikachu was still missing, it was growing tougher to fight off tears, his tailbone pain showed no sign of fading (in fact, more of him was starting to ache from the fall), and now Misty had probably heard every word of his severe chewing-out. Ash clasped his eyes shut, longing for the entire scene to evaporate into oblivion.

That wasn't going to happen, though. He knew he was going to have to acknowledge her when he felt her approach. The best scenario would have been for her to simply deliver his bedding and make a prompt about-face.

But that wasn't going to happen, either. When he did find the gumption to look up, he was met with the very troubled face of his disheveled girlfriend. For a moment, they just stared at each other, each trying to gauge the other in their own unspoken way. It was enough time for Ash to be taken by surprise by his shifting feelings. As her tired, blue eyes penetrated his own, his innate desire for her comfort began working its way into his wounded pride.

It was kind of confounding, actually, the feelings that were suddenly hitting him with Misty's presence. Minutes ago, Delia was offering all sorts of comfort—half-asleep or not, there was no way she could have quelled her motherly need to tend to him. Yet he had declined her kindness, and part of him sensed it hadn't entirely to do with the rocky tension that existed between them most of the day.

The unexpected yearning for Misty's consolation…it was different. Perhaps it was a product of his insane whirl of his emotions, devastatingly capped by the setback his father had just dealt him. Or it may have been his belief that she, who always had his well-being in the forefront of her mind, couldn't possibly have witnessed what she did and _not_ have sympathy for him. Whatever it was, his need for her understanding suddenly overrode any shame he had felt seconds ago.

Finally breaking the awkward connection, Misty placed the bedding between her and Ash and sat at the far opposite end of the couch.

"Ash." She took the initiative to speak first, but then paused for some time, her attention aimed across the room. The few seconds that ticked by felt like an eternity to Ash as he anxiously awaited her words. "You…you're scaring the hell out of me."

Well, she wasn't exactly setting the tone for moral support with _that_ prologue.

Ash did his best to dismiss the plunging of his stomach. He could tell right away he didn't like the direction this conversation was going in; her morose language was all too prophetic. The most unassuming thing he could do was hang on dumbly as she continued, scarcely cracking a whisper.

"I'm so worried that—that you'll…that you're going to end up really hurt from all this."

"Misty…I won't," he managed quietly, compelled to defend himself. "I'll be more careful." He squirmed on the warm bag of peas, well aware his physical circumstance wasn't lending that declaration much support.

And she did wince, having little trust in his avowal. He couldn't blame her—he was injury-prone on his best days, after all. Even he was shocked at everything that had befallen him, as if his misery quota hadn't been filled to the brim since that ill-starred rainy morning.

"I—I don't mean just that," Misty replied, however. "I mean…I want to know that you won't get hurt—_be_ hurt…" She swallowed uncomfortably and finally braved eye-contact. "…mentally."

He couldn't have felt more cornered with that loaded appeal. "I don't know what you mean," he blurted, panic prompting the brusque lie.

Misty's shoulders sagged, his attempt at feigning ignorance seeming not to fool her, nor dissuade her from abandoning the probe she'd initiated, much to Ash's increasing dismay.

"I need to know you're going to be okay…" she clarified, her voice teetering on the brink of a whimper, "no matter what happens."

_No matter what happens._ Ash felt another pang of denial strike him with that statement. He hated everything about the phrase: the open-endedness of it, the uncertainty, the negative part of it that he couldn't help but focus on.

Worse, he hated that Misty would even _dare_ to imply an adverse outcome—right there, right then. Couldn't she see this was _hardly_ the best time to broach the proscribed notion? Wasn't his turmoil glaringly obvious, just like his critical need for someone to assure him everything was going to be _okay_, not the alternative?

Didn't she realize he needed _someone_ on his side?

He allowed his consternation to trigger his adamant answer: "I'll be okay, because everything is going to _be_ okay."

Misty shook her head, his reaction noticeably paining her. But it did little to shake Ash's conscience; it was easier to make that idealistic statement than the promise she was really pursuing.

"Ash…" she begged, pressing her hand over her now pooling eyes, "please… When are you going to stop this?"

"Stop _what_?" he dodged, but he knew he couldn't ward her off that way for long. All these relentless demands she was laying into him, with her overt emotions and drained voice, were just fragments of a bigger question she was evading asking. Part of Ash yearned for her to get to the point. Another part of him yearned to bury his face in his hands, hide himself from her interrogation, from the situation, from the ache in his heart…from reality.

"This _search_," she boldly revealed at last, her voice bathed with despair. She clearly didn't want to say it as much as Ash didn't want to hear it. "When are you going to just…let it go?"

_Let it go…_

Just like that, the valiant determination that had been freshly razed by his father was finding traction again. Ash's heart rate accelerated, sending a boiling mix of anger, refutation, and disbelief surging through every vein in his body.

"I can't believe you," he uttered. "How can you ask me that?" Before she had a chance to respond, he added thickly: "How could you ask me to stop searching for Pikachu?"

She was beginning to cry in earnest now, tears escaping her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. "Because of what it's doing to you!" she bawled. "I can't stand seeing you like this anymore, Ash! You're going crazy!"

"What are you talking about?!" Ash cried, dazed on top of aghast. "I'm not going crazy! I'm trying to find Pikachu!"

"I know, but look what's happening to you!" she gestured to him hysterically. "You just keep getting sick—and hurt!"

"So _what_?!" barked Ash. He bullheadedly tipped toward her, placing ill-timed weight on his tailbone following her comment. "Who cares what happens to me—I have to find Pikachu!"

"_I _care about what happens to you!" Misty proclaimed fervently. "And so does your mom and dad! Don't you see that? I don't know why you keep fighting us!"

"I'm fighting _you_?" Ash scoffed. "No, _you_ are fighting _me_! None of these fights would happen if everyone just left me alone and let me do what I needed to do to find Pikachu!"

"Left you alone?" Misty echoed, her eyes widening incredulously. "Ash, if we left you alone who knows what kind of condition you'd be in right now!"

"You're right!" he scowled. "Maybe I'd be _happy_. Because maybe I would've found Pikachu!"

Misty looked unsure of how to reply to that at first. "It's not that we don't want you to find Pikachu," she ultimately said. "We just don't want something bad to happen to you!"

"So you'd rather see me be _miserable_ for the rest of my life," Ash weaved Misty's suggestion into a scathing accusation.

"No!" she denied, frustration surfacing in her voice. Evidently, she felt like she was not getting through to him, but Ash found he was understanding her _quite_ well.

"Well, that's what I'll be if I don't find him!"

Their eyes locked briefly in passionate contention: his blazing with resentment; hers red, swollen, and urgent.

"I told you," Misty reminded somberly, "that's what scares me, too. That's why I want you to promise me that you'll be okay."

_Promise_. There it was again—that word, that _demand_, that his friends and family had the audacity to throw at him. Ash could only shake his head and look away.

"_Please_, Ash," his girlfriend continued to beg desperately, "please—you know I care about Pikachu—"

"No you don't!" Ash snapped, odious eyes back on her in an instant. "You don't care about him. You let me know that earlier—you're letting me know that _now_!"

"Oh my God, would you stop it?! I do to care about him!" Misty shrieked, insulted. "I'm _heartbroken_ over this! We all are! Maybe if you calmed down for two seconds, you'd see that!"

"How can I calm down when Pikachu is missing? Or when my family wants to keep me from finding him?!"

Ash couldn't stop his voice from breaking with that allegation. Truthfully, there was nothing he physically wanted to do more than cry—his chest burned uncomfortably with the urge—but thankfully his resentment and perseverance were doing an effective job thwarting it. There was nothing less helpful to his cause than unavailing blubbering.

Misty, on the other hand, was having no issues submitting to her tears.

"See?" she said. "The fact that you think that that's what we're doing, that we want to keep you from finding Pikachu…" She shook her head bleakly. "That's what's killing me, Ash. That you'd actually feel that way—that you would let yourself believe that! This whole thing, it's destroying you—it's destroying the Ash that I know, and _love_. It's like I don't even know who you are when you say stuff like that!"

_I can say the same for you_, Ash felt like voicing, but somehow, he was able to keep the incendiary thought to himself.

"I do care about Pikachu," she pressed on, smearing the tears across her cheeks. "_A lot_. But I care about you _more_. Seeing you get hurt and go through this, and what it's doing to _all_ of us…_that's_ what's getting to me more than Pikachu being gone. That's what's breaking my heart! I want to find him, too, but…" She clasped her eyes shut and her speech collapsing into sobs. "But if it's not meant to be, then I don't know how much more of this I can take! I need to know you're going to be okay if Pikachu is really gone! I need to know that I'm not going to lose _you_ along with him!"

Despite her profound grief supplementing that which was already shredding his own heart, her words still succeeded in making Ash bristle with disdain. He wasn't nearsighted to the fact that Misty was suffering just as deeply as he was, but it still didn't help him come to terms with what she was petitioning. Not only did she want him to forfeit to the possibility that they would never find Pikachu, but she was going a step beyond, far beyond, insisting on something he deemed utterly out of the question at that precise instant: his pledge to "be okay" in the wake of it.

Ash knew an unhappy ending was just as probable as a happy one. He knew. But he would be damned if he was going to concede to it right there, at her weeping behest, and declare that somehow, someway he was going to find acceptance and peace following such a catastrophic outcome, much less any time soon.

And she thought _he_ was the crazy one?

If he were able-bodied enough to storm out and escape this awful conversation on his own power, he would have. Alas, his sore body gave him no choice but to respond in a way he saw regrettably despicable, even in the face of his ire.

"Go away, Misty."

Her head jerked up, watery eyes widening at his unforeseen order. "What…Ash—"

"I said, _go away_, _Misty_!" he ground out furiously. As much as it grieved him to send her away so coldly, he couldn't see any other way out of this nerve-wracking moment. Instinctively, he slapped his hands over his eyes, shielding himself quickly from the look on her face that made his abdomen lurch ashamedly. "Just go! I don't wanna talk about this anymore! I wanna be left alone!"

Ash didn't know what was going to happen if she refused. The pressure of her impossible demand combined with his unspeakable heartache had him on the verge of what felt like emotional detonation. He realized his command was a spineless one, but if Misty fought back, what came out of his mouth next could potentially be worse.

_Please, Misty, just _leave_… I'm sorry…_

Thankfully, she must have detected his impending volatility. A couple of precarious seconds following his curt dismissal, he felt the couch lift from Misty's departing weight. Relief flooded him, but he nonetheless kept his eyes veiled, obstructing the sight of her face until he heard her ascend the stairs, until he knew she was truly gone. He didn't need anything else haunting him from this afflictive late-night fiasco.

If only everything else could be cast away that easily.

* * *

Misty stood behind the closed door of her small bedroom, letting the darkness shroud her and her sobs overtake her. On the bed, Togepi peeped worriedly, but she was too gripped by her emotions to acknowledge his concern. She wept silently, unremittingly, singeing her throat raw and rattling her ribcage. She wished she could stop, but she couldn't—her spirit was too shattered to heed to her body's appeals to quit. Never before had she felt this inconsolable, this powerless, this rejected, this _terrified_. She wasn't losing Ash, as she'd earlier feared.

She had already lost him.

On the other side of the wall, Jay lay flat on his back in bed, eyes focused on the shadow-splattered ceiling. Beside him, his wife was laboring to fall asleep—she wasn't making a sound or stirring a muscle, but Jay knew she was still awake. He prayed for exhaustion to consume her, since nothing else would. He already resigned to the fact that sleep would not be a part of _his_ night…not with all the ruminations occupying his mind. Not with the driving, inherent duty to protect and watch over his threatened home. Not with the fury aflame in him over the unjust hand his family had been dealt, and the nerve of the faceless pranksters in exploiting it.

Not with the hounding guilt of what a jerk he had been to his woebegone son.

It took a bit of time before Ash confronted the task of repositioning. Sliding the defrosted, useless bag of peas out from underneath him and dropping it to the floor, he carefully reached out for his pillow and blanket and tried to shift into the most comfortable alignment achievable. It was a miserable, futile attempt. Every slight move he made, no matter how much he favored his back end, sent flares of pain shooting through his body, and as he wiggled and writhed, his stifled tears finally began to descend from his eyes.

They were going to get their wish after all, he thought cynically. _Fate_ was going to get its wish. He was too battered to move, and too crestfallen to summon the mental strength to overcome it. Grudgingly, he admitted defeat.

Whatever wrong he did to merit this trial, the forces in charge of his retribution were intent on imposing their devices in the most ruthless of ways: insults upon injuries, restraints added to existing obstacles, questions piled on enduring mysteries.

One question, though, stood out among the rest. One question, in his mind, deserved an answer.

When Ash finally broke down, smashing his face into his pillow to smother the violent sobs reverberating from his lungs, he sent out one last forlorn query to the only entity left to hear him.

_God? What did I do to deserve all of this?_

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

I know firsthand how nightmarish it is to have a broken tailbone—yes, _broken_, not bruised. I suffered one the summer between 8th and 9th grade after spectacularly failing to clear the ground on a backyard trapeze, and now, nearly sixteen years later, I still see stars if I'm sitting in the car for too long. It's the injury that generously keeps on giving! -_- Sorry, Ash: if this is indeed the extent of your damage, you have many a year of uncomfortable road-trips ahead of you, kid…

On that note, thank you for reading! I apologize again for the long wait; just because I love to write the feels doesn't mean they always come easy. I am proud and relieved to say I made my deadline, though. How could I not post on or around Halloween?

Comments and/or constructive criticism are, as always, deeply appreciated. :) Have a Happy Halloween!


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